


The Oak and the Orcslayer

by DJSparkles



Series: The Oak and the Orcslayer [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 25,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJSparkles/pseuds/DJSparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Hobbit AU. Thorin finds an unusual wanderer in the woods and after some time spent in her company, discovers that friendship is often found where you least expect it - and that it can turn to love without warning. Thorin/OFC. No Slash. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Thorin Oakenshield paused for a moment, holding his pony on a tight rein and listening intently. Sounds of a swordfight came to him on the slight breeze and then he stiffened when Orc voices came into play. He would kill Orcs wherever and whenever he came upon them. And whoever had been set upon in this woodland would need help; there were MANY Orcs from the sounds of it.

He dismounted and crept slowly closer. It wouldn't do, he thought, to announce his presence until he was certain they weren't just fighting amongst themselves. But no, that was – was that a human WOMAN surrounded and being slowly cut to ribbons?

He stepped out then, his own sword in hand. He had long hated Orcs, with more cause than most, and he would fight them wherever he found them. “Come,” he said simply. “Try your tricks on me.”

To say the Orcs were surprised was an understatement. To a one, they stopped and simply stared for a moment. The woman, startled, still reacted quickly and brought her sword down on one's head as the others charged toward the dwarf. 

The battle was then truly joined, both human and dwarf darting in to strike hard and dancing away, leaving many more of the Orcs on the ground than stood against them. Abruptly, the Orcs decided they'd had enough and fled. 

Thorin would have pursued, consumed as he was by bloodlust, but he saw the woman go to her knees, holding herself up with one hand as she heaved for breath. Growling, he sheathed his sword and went to kneel beside her. “You fool!” he railed. “Have you no sense? Alone, in the forest, with an Orc pack on your trail?” But he had whistled for his pony and was already rummaging in the packs for something he could use as a bandage.

“As for foolish, Master Dwarf, why set upon them alone yourself? I see no others who could have come to your aid.” She drew a deep breath and then a hiss of pain as he applied a wet cloth to the long, deep slash on her cheek. “You could very well have left me to my fate.”

“I would leave no one to the Orcs.” Simple words, but they radiated hatred and she was hard pressed not to flinch away from it. “This is deep. It will leave a scar.” He watched her carefully. The human women he had met would be railing against fate, considering themselves ruined and worth nothing with such a disfiguration. 

“Then it leaves a scar.” She sat back for a moment, considering. “They went north. I should follow. They can't be allowed to rally others and return.” Slowly she stood. Having regained her breath, she took a step forward and then turned to regard him steadily. “I will not ask for your aid,” she said slowly. “Though I thank you for your timely assistance.”

“If you are hunting Orcs, you will need help,” he replied evenly as he began to repack his pony. He swung aboard. “I would offer to carry you as well, but you are too tall for my mount.” There was a hint of humor in his voice, though it was heavily veiled. “Lead on, lady. We will track these creatures as far as we can.”

“No lady, Master Dwarf,” she cast back over her shoulder as she took the lead, carefully checking the tracks. The Orcs had been in disarray, fleeing before them, but she wouldn't put it past them to have turned back for an ambush. “My name is Inara. I am a wanderer, a hunter of Orcs.” She left it at that. She wasn't used to having company and her manners were admittedly lacking. She knew her garb was strange, for a human woman. She appeared more like a Ranger than anything else, though they had no females in their ranks. 

Thorin almost took exception at her continued use of “Master Dwarf” until common sense prevailed. She couldn't very well call him by name if he hadn't given it to her. And she was a riddle; a wanderer, a hunter of Orcs, she had called herself. Human women just didn't do these things, to his knowledge. “And as you are Inara, I am Thorin, not Master Dwarf,” he said dryly. He watched her track, giving her a grudging admiration for her ease of movement. She moved only as much as necessary, keeping nearly silent. For a human, she was remarkably capable, it seemed. 

“They haven't stopped running,” she said as she knelt beside the path. Thorin could see no track, but apparently she could. “We couldn't have frightened them that badly. There is something more at work here.” She stood and looked thoughtful. “We should camp here. They'll be waiting for us further up. It's the perfect place for an ambush.” She raised a brow at him. “That is, if you choose to stay in my company. I've interrupted your journey as it is.”

“I had no clear destination in mind when I left the mountain,” he replied as he again swung down. “We should make no fire. They'll be less apt to spot us that way.” He took out some of the travel rations he carried and sat down near his pony. “Tell me why you hunt Orcs, Inara.” He was more than curious. Even Dwarf women didn't hunt, much less Orcs. He had more than enough cause for hate; Orcs had nearly wiped out his entire line. But to find another who seemed just as driven...

“Perhaps for the same reasons as you,” she said as she settled gingerly to the ground opposite him. “The one who leads this band. He is my quarry, and yet he hides behind others who do his bidding. He is pure evil, even more so than other Orcs. He leads them with an iron fist, to pillage and plunder villages and kill all the humans he can find.” The hatred in her voice was thick, as was something else he judged to be sorrow. 

He felt an unaccustomed discomfort at having upset her. “Forgive me,” he said simply. “I meant not to wake hard memories.” And yet his were as dark as hers. His grandfather, his father – both lost to the pale Orc known as Azog. His kin, most of them, also lost to the Orcs. He fell silent, lost in thought.

“Why don't you rest, Thorin?” Inara's voice was soft. “I will take the first watch.” She knew the name, of course. He was the King under the Mountain, of the Dwarf Kingdom of Erebor. He had spent most of his life in exile from his home, and for that, she felt him a kindred spirit. She could never go home either. Not until she had settled with Gharzgul. And even then, she had no home to go to. The Orc had seen to that. Yes, she felt a kinship with the Dwarf. 

Thorin simply regarded her with that steady, piercing gaze until she looked away. Yes, there was sorrow in her eyes, and it pulled at him. Then he shrugged inwardly and composed himself to sleep. “You will wake me for the next watch.” It wasn't a question, and he gave no thought to how arrogant he sounded. 

She turned back to him to answer but he already seemed asleep. How he could be, she didn't know, but she thought it was genuine. And so she relaxed back, still wary, and kept the watch.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Thorin woke to a light touch upon his shoulder. Inara had one finger pressed to her lips to keep him silent and he nodded as he reached for his sword. “How many?” he mouthed to her.

“A lot, and just up the track,” she murmured back. “And Gharzgul is with them.” The hatred in her voice was nearly palpable. “Either we fight, or we flee.” She knew how that sounded, but she had no intention of running. She was going to end this. Tonight. She had the opportunity and hopefully the strength of arms to do so. 

“Then we fight.” He rose, sword in hand, and waited. She would set the tone here; it was her battle. He recognized her need for vengeance and silently applauded it. She was a strong woman, to hate so deeply. Almost as strong as a Dwarf.

She nodded to him and turned northward, her own sword in hand and fury in her eyes. Were he a lesser Dwarf, he would have quailed beneath that glare, but as it was, he simply allowed his own hatred free rein as well. He moved to stand beside her, ready for whatever came at them.

The Wargs flew at them first, nearly knocking them over had they not rolled with the hits and come up to stand again, steel in both hand and eye. “Come on then!” Inara roared as she hacked at the Warg that seemed determined to have her for dinner. It was soon dispatched and she glanced over to see Thorin take his down as well. Their eyes met and they shared the knowledge that this had only been the first salvo.

Orcs poured from the trees, seemingly endless numbers of them, and both swords were put to hard use to keep them alive. Orc blows hammered at them and yet both remained determined, returning each blow with one of their own, and yet not gaining any ground.

Slowly, they were forced into the center of a circle of the enemy, bloody but unbowed. Defiance showed large in both faces as the huge Orc called Gharzul approached on his Warg.

He passed into the circle, his lips lifted in a sneer. “This is what you fear?” he demanded of his minions. “A woman and a Dwarf? You are worthless. They are NOTHING.” He paced the Warg, watching them closely. “You, I know.” He pointed his spear at Inara. “You, I pledged to kill with your family and you eluded me. No longer. Tonight, you die.” The spear shifted to point at Thorin. “And you, who have aided her. I would have the name of those I kill.”

Thorin gave his own sneer. “I killed Azog the Defiler,” he spat. “You will be no different. You live on borrowed time, Orc.” 

A burst of nasty laughter left Gharzgul. “So, I have the mighty King under the Mountain at my fingertips,” he gloated. Inara watched carefully. Did she have time to attack before Thorin was skewered? 

Thorin's raised hand stopped her in her tracks. “Be thankful I don't let her gut you,” he snarled. “I think, if she were to get her hands on you, it would take you a long time to die.” He had seen the naked fury in her face, the need for vengeance. He knew it as well as he knew himself; it had been his own constant companion for many, many years. 

Gharzgul moved closer to Thorin, crowding him a bit but the Dwarf refused to fall back. “And why make this your fight? You could leave her to her fate. She might get in one, two strikes, and she would be dead. Why do you fight for a human?”

“Because you and your kind are evil and should be wiped from the face of Middle Earth,” Thorin snarled back. His sword flashed out and the Warg reared backward in pain. Inara leaped to join him, trying to bring it down, but the huge beast danced out of their reach and Gharzul roared in rage. One strike had hit him, and his leg bled profusely.

“Kill them!” he screamed as he brought his mount under control. And yet he grew concerned when the duo began to cut their way through his minions. They bore the injuries they received without reaction, and they were winning their way free. He knew a moment's fear when he met Inara's eyes, and read death in Thorin's. He knew a losing battle. Swiftly he moved about and pushed his Warg to flee. His followers were easily replaced. They could be sacrificed to protect him.

Soon there were no more Orcs. Thorin slowly lowered Orcrist, letting his bloodlust cool, and looked to Inara. He was weary beyond measure, and yet remained on his feet. She was wounded as well, though she seemed as oblivious to it as he was to his own hurts.

“Well done,” she remarked as she sheathed her own sword. “And yet, not without cost.” She gestured to his upper arm where steel had bitten through his mail. “Good thing it wasn't your sword arm, or this could have ended badly.” She was checking herself over as she spoke, finding a myriad of cuts and bruises, all of which would slow her down. 

“Aye. And yours as well.” He moved over to her, gesturing to her calf where something had clipped her. “Come. Leave them for the crows. We can make a camp not far from here.” They were close to the Greenwood, but for some reason it didn't bother him as once it would have. He and Thranduil had made an uneasy sort of peace after the Battle of the Five Armies. 

They hiked a short way and Thorin whistled again for his pony. If it were anywhere near, it would come to his call. All of his supplies were on it. But when it didn't answer, he grunted softly. “It would appear we're on our own,” he grumbled. But before he could say anything else, the sound of a horn nearby alerted them and both drew swords once more. 

Horses approaching sent them to stand together against this new possible threat, back to back, facing outward to counter any attempt at a direct assault. But when they came down the track, Thorin relaxed slightly. Not completely; never would he completely relax in the company of Elves. Nonetheless, he sheathed his blade once more. 

Inara followed suit, but was also uncomfortable. The Elves had never directly addressed her, nor come to her aid. Of course, they hadn't come to Thorin's aid, either. They had arrived too late to be of much use.

“We track a party of Orcs,” the leader said simply. “And it would seem you know which way they went.” He spoke softly in Elvish and one of the others dismounted and brought forward a pack. “We cannot tarry here with you. Hopefully these supplies will help you on your way.” Unspoken, but clearly heard, was the thought that the Dwarf was better far, far away from Elven lands. And Inara was ignored as completely as though she weren't there.

Thorin took the pack and said nothing, though he did give a bow of his head to the Elf. It was Inara who finally broke the silence. “Thank you,” she said simply. “The Orcs you seek have gone east, toward Esgaroth on Long Lake.” Her leg was starting to hurt badly and she knew Thorin's arm had to be giving him fits. It was deep from what she could see, and was still bleeding sluggishly. She took the pack from Thorin and rummaged, finding bandages and medicines and breathing a silent sigh of relief. Food they could find, meat they could hunt, but medicines were another matter. She knew enough herb lore to keep from poisoning herself, but not enough to use it for healing. 

Neither of them truly saw the Elves depart. They went to the side of the track and finally were able to sit down and truly catch their breath. “Come on, then,” she said softly as she started setting out bandages. “Let's get these cleaned up. Who knows what filth was on those blades.”


	3. Chapter 3

Inara had set out what they would need and removed her boot, hissing at the amount of pain the action caused. She hadn't realized the slice was so severe. Thorin had removed his cloak and mail, and remained in a simple tunic, his shoulder bare to the breeze and still bleeding slightly. He hadn't done it without a groan or two of his own, stifled out of pride. 

“Gharzgul doesn't stand a chance,” Thorin said thoughtfully as Inara first cleaned the gouge and then bandaged it tightly. “The Elves will have him soon.” He thought only to ease her mind; his own told him that the Elves weren't so clever as to find the big Orc so quickly.

Inara shook her head and began to work on her own injuries. “No. They won't. He's smart, and he's cunning. I've been hunting him for a long time.” She gritted her teeth against the burn when he cleaned the cut on her calf. It was deep, and it was long, and in general more than a bloody nuisance. She wasn't sure how she was going to walk on it, but walk she would. She wanted to be back on the hunt.

Thorin took the bandages from her shaking hands and wrapped it as well as he could. “We should rest here for a day or two,” he said slowly. “And then make our way to Erebor. We can find reinforcements there, and perhaps deal with this creature once and for all.”

“No.” One word, full of strength. “No, Gharzgul is mine, Thorin Oakenshield. I'm sorry you were drawn into this; but it is no longer your concern.”

“Then come to the Mountain anyway.” He couldn't have said why, but he wanted her to come with him. “Rest there. And when you are ready, return to the hunt rested and well supplied.” He hadn't missed the chips in her sword, the patches on her clothes. Yes, she could use some help, even if she didn't think so. For a moment he wondered if perhaps feigning greater injury would bring her with him, but rejected the thought almost as soon as it was formed. She would see through such a ploy instantly. She was well aware of the nature and severity of his injuries – and that they were in no way debilitating enough to require an escort to his home.

“And what would I do to earn such a gift as you offer?” she returned woodenly. “I am but a simple hunter.” The idea was appealing to her, but pride wouldn't allow her to accept such a gift. She wanted to earn her way. It was one reason she avoided what few towns and villages the Orcs had left behind. She could hunt for farmers, she could bring them meat when they needed it, but for other things she had no coin. And she had nothing to barter other than her services, which the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain would have no need of.

“Inara.” Thorin's words were chosen carefully. She had as much stiff necked pride as any Dwarf, and it gave him pause for a moment. “Come to Erebor. Rest. I will ask nothing in return from you. Come as my guest – and my friend.” Yes, she was stubborn. Prideful. And she lived for vengeance. Her face was still set with purpose, but he knew how that need for vengeance could change someone, make them harder, colder, and unable to accept the hand of friendship when offered. Had he not been just like her? And he had been shown the alternative to vengeance by, of all things, a Hobbit. He still thought of Bilbo fondly. Would she listen and accept?

She caught his gaze and held it, as though assessing his intentions. And though she regarded him for several minutes, she found nothing but concern in his eyes. “As your friend, how could I refuse?” she said softly. Abruptly she rose and rummaged in the pack again. “There's tinder in here, but we'll need some wood. We might as well have a fire, since Gharzgul knows where we are if he chooses to come back. And then we can start for Erebor in the morning.” Just like that, she was all business again and Thorin groaned inwardly. “It'll be a long journey on foot.”

“Yes, it will.” Thorin went after some firewood and found a convenient stockpile nearby. Of course, the Elves knew these woods intimately even if they weren't part of the Greenwood. They would keep supplies at hand. “It seems they thought of everything for our comfort. Except for bedrolls and blankets.” He snorted. “Just because they don't feel the elements as we do, they forget that it gets cold at night.” 

Soon, they had a respectable fire going and Thorin began to shrug back into his mail and cloak. He wanted the extra protection they would give him from the chill he could already feel. And yet, it was nearly dawn. Their headlong fight had taken mere hours, and the night still remained, though not much of it. Inara simply put her boots back on and was ready to leave, though her leg pained her greatly. “Rest, Thorin,” she said simply as she sat back against a tree. “Gharzgul will be too busy leading those Elves on a merry chase to worry with us for a few days. You should rest while you can. I doubt we'll make the Mountain before he's on us again.” For that, she was sorry. For some reason, the Dwarf had decided to throw his fate in with hers against the Orc and for a moment, she regretted it. She had no wish to cause his death. Then common sense reasserted itself and she shrugged inwardly. He was a warrior in his own right, a King, and he could make his own decisions. He knew what he was getting into. 

She watched as he squirmed for a moment, trying to get comfortable, and just as quickly as before dropped into sleep. Another thought crossed her mind and she stifled the groan before it escaped. 

A King. He was a King. She should respect that, and she had been ordering him around as she would any other traveler she might have intercepted. He had EARNED his crown, with his own life's blood. He had survived wounds that would have killed a lesser being, and she should be honored simply to be in his presence. She could learn a lot from him if he would teach it. For all her words to the contrary, she knew little of war. She could wield a sword, had done so well enough to save her life on several occasions, but there was so much yet that she DIDN'T know. A bow was beyond her. Other weapons, as well. No, she should start treating him with the respect he was due and perhaps he would teach her what she needed to know.

Thorin lay still with his eyes closed, but he wasn't sleeping. He was thinking over the past and how he might help his new friend. Yes, a friend he judged her, and not simply because she hunted Orcs. She could have left him to die twice now and hadn't. She had honor and mercy and those were traits he didn't find in most beings. And the sorrow he saw in her eyes when she didn't guard them, it plagued him. From her own lips he had heard what must be her story; her family killed in one of the Orc's raids. Gharzgul himself had spoken of his vow to kill her, and for that, she had to have at least bloodied him before. His respect for her grew, for she had not many years to her name if he was any judge. To have become so strong, so hard, at such a young age was worthy of respect and he would accord it to her. 

He opened his eyes slightly to check on her and it was as he thought. It had gotten silent, and even though she would be quiet in order to allow him rest, it shouldn't be THIS quiet. Through slitted eyes, he watched as she struggled to hold her head up to keep watch. She was obviously exhausted and he decided to take pity on her. He sat up slowly, as though waking. “I will take the watch,” he said softly as she turned to him. “Sleep. A few hours more won't make much of a difference. Being on foot will. You'll need to be rested.” 

He waited until she nodded and then turned to feed the fire. It was cold with the damp of the first spring rains, though the area had been dry for several days. He could feel it coming in the aches of his scars, gained so easily in a battle that shouldn't have been won. His people, Thranduil's Elves, and the Men of Laketown, Esgaroth on Long Lake, they had won the day, but at a terrible cost. And Thorin had been so horribly wounded, he had nearly been given up for dead. It had taken him weeks to even be able to sit up without pain. It was a testament to Dwarven stubbornness that he had survived at all, or so Bilbo and the Wizard told him constantly. 

What was it about the dark before dawn that made memories so vivid, he wondered. He could still feel the strikes that had torn at him, the burn where his skin had parted, the stabbing shriek of the spear that had pierced his side. The wound on his shoulder was as nothing to them. This was a minor inconvenience; the others had nearly made him beg for death as an end to the pain. And yet no one would ever know how close it had been for him to have simply given up the fight, to have an end to the agony. Gandalf might suspect, but he would say nothing. 

His thoughts were taking a decidedly morbid turn and he shook himself out of them by sheer strength of will. He rose, taking a care to be silent, stepped across the track for a moment, and caught the rabbit neatly and quickly dispatched it. There, they had breakfast.

He had it nearly cooked by the time Inara woke and he greeted her with a gesture at the fire. “Eat,” he said simply. “Then we'll head east, toward the river. Are you up to it?” Concern tinged his voice as he realized she was having trouble straightening the wounded leg. He had cause to know how badly a sword strike could hurt, and he wouldn't force another to bear one in silence. If she wished to rest, they would rest.

Inara shook her head as she rose and walked unsteadily the few steps to the fire. “Give me a few minutes to get the stiffness out,” she said softly. Something had changed between them in the night. She could feel it. He was treating her the same, and yet it was subtly different. And she couldn't identify the change. She took the meat he offered her and chewed slowly, as though accustoming herself to the idea of food, and he glanced sideways at her. Yes, she was thin, though not gaunt. So she knew how to feed herself in the Wild. Again he told himself not to misjudge. He had sorely misjudged Bilbo, and look how that had turned out. The Hobbit had saved his life more than once.

“We should stay here for a day or two,” he said slowly. “You shouldn't walk on that just yet.” The blood on her boot was fresh so the injury had bled through the bandage he had put on it the night before. And he knew his shoulder hurt like the very blazes.

She rose, intending to prove him wrong, and the sat back quickly when her leg wouldn't bear her weight. And for all her decision to respect him properly, she wasn't doing it. “If you think we should stay, then we'll stay,” she said quietly. Inwardly she railed over the delay. The sooner she got him home, the sooner she got supplies, the sooner she could be back on Gharzgul's trail. She wouldn't quit until he lay dead at her feet. 

Thorin reached over and touched her cheek, tracing the cut and turning her to fully face him. “Vengeance shouldn't be the only ambition you hold,” he said softly. Her expression was held carefully blank, but he thought that anyone who could see her eyes would know her thoughts. Those dark orbs held no secrets; he could clearly see the rage and sorrow in them and he wanted to take that from her. What was he thinking? “The need will tear at you, eat at you, until there is nothing left. No thought, no feeling, nothing save the need for vengeance. And when it is achieved...” His voice trailed off and he took a lock of her hair in his fingers, needing the time to sort his words carefully. “When you have achieved it, when Gharzgul lies dead at your feet, then you will have nothing. No friends, no home, nothing to call your own save the emptiness that remains.” Her hair was soft against his fingers and suddenly he was certain he'd made a mistake in touching her at all. 

Inara felt his touch on her face and carefully blanked her expression. It had been so long since another had WANTED to touch her that she wasn't certain what he intended. And when he touched her hair, it was so gentle, for all his Dwarven strength it was still so gentle, and she wanted to lean into it. What was she thinking? He was a king, and she nothing more than a woodland rat. She had no home, no family, nothing to offer him and where had THAT thought come from? And yet she couldn't move away. 

Thorin reluctantly moved back, allowing her some space and himself a chance to regain his composure. “Today we rest,” he said simply and rubbed at his shoulder. Even if she didn't want to wait, he would for her sake. And because his own bloody wounds, new and old, were plaguing him now. “Let me see your leg. The bandage needs changing.”

She didn't argue. Off came the boot again and she sighed; she needed new ones, and had for a while. But there wasn't any hope of that until they came to either Esgaroth or the Lonely Mountain. And then it would be on sufferance of her friend; she had nothing with which to purchase them, or to barter for them. Again she fought down a wave of bitterness. Gharzgul had taken everything from her, including the chance to learn any trade. And then she had to swallow hard against the nausea that threatened. The wound had bled through the bandage and when Thorin had removed it, the flesh was an ugly red and swollen.

He cleaned it carefully, noting the redness hadn't spread from the actual wound and glad of it. Still, he took some of the herbs from the pack they'd been given and carefully packed them into the cut and closed a bandage around the whole thing. “That should help,” he said evenly. Again he whistled, but he had no hope of his pony returning. Bloody Elves. They'd left supplies, but what was needed was transportation. And water. They had precious little of that and they were many days from the river. What were they to do about water?

“Then hold still and let me change yours as well,” Inara demanded, though her voice was soft. He had given her much to think about, both with his words and his actions, and she intended to do just that. Think. “Well, come on then. Let me see it.” Would he refuse? She couldn't tell if it was still bleeding under that damned mail and the fur lined cloak he wore. He could very well ignore it if it didn't hurt too much. 

Thorin growled wordlessly but still did as she asked. Off came the cloak and the mail, and she was able to see that his had bled through as well. “Good thing I checked it,” she said quietly. “You're still bleeding, too.” She pulled the old bandage off with a hiss and swallowed hard. It looked the same as hers, red and weeping. She took some of the same herbs and gave him the same treatment, but he didn't answer when she finished. He was looking into the middle distance, as though thinking hard, and she kept quiet. 

She kept silent also on the subject of his scars. She had seen one, almost directly below the slash she had just bandaged, that looked to be from a spear. It would have been a devastating injury to have left such a mark. Men of her acquaintance had been extremely conscious of such things; they boasted about them, or they tried to hide them. Thorin did neither, and it confused her.

“We need water.” Thorin's voice was firm. He'd had two skins on his bloody pony, but the thing wasn't in evidence. “South will take us to the Forest River in about two days. From there we can follow it all the way up to Esgaroth and from there, to the Mountain.” He considered their situation again but could see no other option. “Now the only thing to decide is when to start our journey. We can't wait too long. But you need rest for that leg.” 

“Perhaps that might help us.” Inara wasn't smiling, but her eyes were. There stood Thorin's pony, not a hundred paces away on the track. It was obviously the worse for wear; there were cuts on its legs and the packs had been disarranged, but it was alive and had returned to its master. “Let's see what he still carries.”

But when she rose, she again landed on the ground. Her leg simply wouldn't hold her up and she found herself looking up at him, a dazed expression on her face.

He went to the frightened beast, soothing it and leading it back to their small campsite. “Water, at the least,” he said simply as he tossed her the skin. He proceeded to unpack the pony then and she watched in confusion. He kept very little on the creature, choosing carefully among the parcels and leaving the saddle quite clear. 

“That should do,” he said simply as he turned to face her. “Come. You can rest your leg while we travel.” That should solve the problems. She was really too tall for the poor beast, but there was no help for it. She needed to keep the weight off that injury for a few days, and they needed to put leagues between them and this place. For all her reassurances, Gharzgul could return looking for them. He held his hand down to her. 

She gripped his forearm and let him help her to mount the poor pony. “This might let us travel sooner, but no faster,” she tried to reason with him. “We're still limited to how fast you can walk and for how long.”

“Have you not heard of Dwarven endurance?” he replied as he took the reins and started walking.


	4. Chapter 4

They had been traveling for many days when they finally came to the Celduin. The original plan to head south had been abandoned when the pony appeared with their water, and they had instead headed a bit north of due east in order to get to the river and still make headway toward the Lonely Mountain. 

They had both healed fairly well. They were now taking turns leading the pony by day and having companionship by night. 

The first time she had heard Thorin sing, she had been entranced. It was somber, sad, and hopeful, all at the same time. She had kept silent, listening, wishing for it not to end.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold,  
To dungeons deep, and caverns old.  
We must away,  
Ere break of day,  
To find our long-forgotten gold.

The pines were roaring on the height,  
The winds were moaning, in the night.  
The fire was red,  
It flaming spread,  
The trees like torches blazed with light.

She was enchanted. It was so sad, and yet so hopeful, that she hadn't realized she was staring at him. He seemed to be lost in the music and she had a chance to really look at him. His face showed strength in the clean lines and she was almost as lost in watching him as she was the music. What was WRONG with her? He was her friend, no more.

He had turned, caught her watching him, and smiled slightly. “An old song,” he explained with a small shrug. 

“A beautiful one,” she returned. “And you sing it well.”

He shrugged, a little uncomfortable with her praise. Since the night he had touched her face, her hair, thoughts of her had held an uneasy place in his mind. She was his friend, he reminded himself sternly. “Perhaps you could return the favor. Have you no songs of your own people to share?”

“Not if you value your ears,” she replied with a small laugh before she was able to stop it. “I've been told I cannot sing a note. But I could recite something for you, if you like.” She saw his slight nod and reached back into her memory for one of the songs she had heard wandering dwarves sing at her father's waystation when she was young. She thought it might be a bit cheeky to use this particular one, since it was about him, but her sense of mischief, long buried, was demanding it. She just hoped he didn't take exception to it.

The King beneath the mountains,  
The King of carven stone,  
The lord of silver fountains  
Shall come into his own!  
His crown shall be upholden,  
His harp shall be restrung,  
His halls shall echo golden  
To songs of yore re-sung.  
The woods shall wave on mountains  
And grass beneath the sun;  
His wealth shall flow in fountains  
And the rivers golden run.  
The streams shall run in gladness,  
The lakes shall shine and burn,  
All sorrow fail and sadness  
At the Mountain-king’s return!

He gave her a long look, considering, and she had a moment's fright before he smiled widely and ducked his head. “I confess, I hadn't expected that one. But you tell it well.” 

She colored slightly. That smile did something to her and she wanted to see it more often. Enough, she told herself sternly. Gharzgul was still out there. And as quickly as that, the mood was broken and she retreated into herself once more.

Thorin watched her change from the vibrant companion he had become accustomed to into the distant, determined woman he had met that first day and raged inwardly at the change. She had seemed so alive, so different, and he wished that woman back with him. The woman she was now seemed to feel nothing. He started to raise a hand toward her and thought better of it. In this mood, she wouldn't welcome his concern.

She saw his hand half raise and wondered at it and then let the thought go. She needed to get herself back under control. Gharzgul had to be her priority. But what was the harm in a little simple companionship? Confusion surfaced again and she turned away, wishing she could find a balance within herself. Hard to do when one part of her wanted to find Gharzgul NOW and the other wanted him to touch her face again. Had she really thought that? Her face was crimson and she was glad he couldn't see it. Again she reminded herself that he was a KING and she was nothing. Besides, he was her friend.

He rose and went to the pony, checking the hobbles and trying to put it out of his mind how much he wanted to bring her back from the abyss she stood on the edge of. Then he checked the packs, though usually he waited until later in the night. He just needed to be doing SOMETHING to keep his mind off her. He remembered vividly the feel of her skin under his fingertips, the silk of her hair as he'd touched it. Inwardly he groaned. She was his friend. He should not presume to think she would welcome advances. He was a Dwarf, not human like her. And yet, she seemed very like one of his kin: strong, stubborn, and with courage to spare. She had been hunting that thrice-damned Orc for years. Yes, stubborn was a good word for her.

Howls from behind them startled them both and they leaped into action. Thorin loosed the pony, allowing it to get to safety, and they turned and regarded each other steadily. More howls were added to the mix and Inara shivered. Many, many more wargs than she had met before were in this pack. 

Thorin heard them as well and gave her a sharp nod. He wasted no words. “Run.”

They were close to Laketown. A day or two more would have seen them safe there, but it seemed their luck had run out. Both sprinted northward, following the banks of the river, hoping to outrun what was pursuing them and knowing they never would. 

They were surrounded within sight of the city walls and drew swords, Orcrist gleaming with blue fire in the darkness. They were preparing for a vain last stand when shouts came from the north of them and arrows pierced the night. Many of the Orcs fell before the rush of Dwarves and Thorin gave a triumphant shout as he also set to routing the monsters. Inara was also hacking and slashing her way through them and soon there were no more to fight. Kili and Fili approached Thorin, smiles wide. 

“You're late,” Kili said simply. 

“We expected you back a week ago,” Fili chimed in.

Thorin simply regarded them with that steady stare until they squirmed a bit and he relented. “Come, Inara, meet my kin,” he said simply. She stepped forward then, watching them warily. Thorin was her friend, she kept reminding herself. Thorin would never allow harm to come to her if he could avoid it. He was her friend. But she wasn't used to people, and was a little uncomfortable until she realized what he had said. They were his kin. They were safe.

Kili and Fili bowed low before her. “At your service,” they exclaimed together. She smiled slightly at their foolery and then remembered her manners. “And I am at yours.” Then she turned to Thorin. This had been a mistake. There were too many people around for someone who had spent as much time alone as she had. “Thank you for the invitation to your home, but I must decline,” she said stiffly. She hoped he understood it wasn't her intent to hurt him, but she couldn't stand so many people. Perhaps if she had more time to adjust... yes, that was it. 

Thorin considered her carefully, his expression held blank. He would never let her see how her words had wounded him. But there was something in her eyes that calmed his pain. Those dark eyes, they held the window to her soul as her face did not. There was the inevitable anger and sorrow there, but now they were joined by something very close to panic. He bit down on his original response and simply nodded. “Perhaps you would wait here,” he said simply. He was loathe to allow her to depart in the condition she was in. She was no longer injured, nor was he, but she needed supplies and proper armor if she was to go hunting Gharzgul. “You would be safe enough to regroup and allow me to bring you some supplies. I would repay your kindness, if you would allow it.” Say yes, he pleaded silently. Stay here, where I can protect you for a time. Again he suppressed the urge to touch that scar on her cheek, to feel the silk of her hair against his fingers. Those golden strands, so soft to his touch, and he fought it down quickly. She was already afraid. He would do nothing that might frighten her further. 

Inara regarded him steadily, now oblivious to the presence of the others. They, in turn, felt the undercurrents and withdrew a short distance away to wait for Thorin and whatever else might happen. 

She wanted to stay. She needed to stay. She couldn't bear the thought of causing him pain and it was obvious to her that if she left now, it would hurt him. What harm could there be in allowing him to give her a gift of supplies and perhaps armor? She had wanted him to teach her the ways of war, and now she was running from him. She finally found her courage and faced him squarely. “If the invitation still stands, I accept,” she said quietly, though her voice was strong. Courage, she told herself. Courage. Thorin will allow no harm to come to me in his home. 

Thorin offered her his hand. Would she accept? He needed to know she was safe.

She took it gingerly and gave him a small smile, trying to ignore the feel of his skin against hers. Fili and Kili brought ponies forward for them and would ride together on another. They hadn't planned on a guest. 

Inara mounted, feeling a bit foolish on the pony: her legs nearly touched the ground. But she would go to Thorin's home as he had asked, and from there decide what to do next, and how best to hunt the big Orc who was her quarry. If Thorin could teach her more of the sword, and perhaps the bow, then she would be ready.

She would finally have vengeance.


	5. Chapter 5

Two weeks later, she wasn't so certain she was ever going to learn enough to find that damned Orc and kill him. It had been rather forcefully demonstrated to her that she had stayed alive thus far from sheer dumb luck. She could wield a sword, but not as the Dwarves did. To them, it was an extension of themselves and there were times she envied them for it. And for all she had practiced the moves they had set her, she just couldn't seem to get it right.

Thorin watched her. He had a gift for her, if she would accept it. It had taken the entire length of her stay to fashion it, but the mail he had asked for was finally finished. But he marked her growing frustration and decided to cut the lesson short. “Enough for one day,” he said firmly as he moved across the practice area. Fili bowed and withdrew. “Inara, come with me.” Again he offered his hand to her. It seemed to comfort her somehow and he wouldn't take that from her. Silently, he again cursed the cold, seemingly emotionless woman she had become. Where had his friend gone? 

She took his hand and again had to steel herself against his touch. What was wrong with her? He was her friend. He was a KING. She was nothing. Not a warrior, or a hero. She had nothing to offer him. No, best to remain friends and aspire to nothing more. But where were they going? She hadn't been in this part of the mountain before, not to the smithy. It was obvious from the forges where they had ended up, but she didn't understand why. She turned curious eyes to him.

He indicated the nearest forge and the smith there bowed to her before waving them through to the back. There, Thorin simply gestured to the table. How would she take the gifts?

Inara froze, and then moved forward slowly. These were for her? Slowly, gingerly, she hefted the blade and gave it a practice swing. It was perfectly weighted for her and she raised her eyes to his in silent question.

“Go on,” he rumbled. Inwardly, he was more than pleased. The smith had done his job well. The sword was perfect. Would the armor fit as well? He meant to find out. Carefully he lifted it and raised an eyebrow.

She put the blade down carefully and took it from him, carefully shrugging into it. The fit was perfect. It was a priceless gift and again she gave him a questioning look.

“If you're going to hunt Orcs, you should be more protected than with that thin leather armor,” he explained carefully. “It's a wonder you weren't killed before you learned your sword.” He was glad she hadn't been, for more than one reason, but he wouldn't tell her that. Not ever. She was his friend. Even if he burned to hold her close to him, he couldn't. 

Inara saw something in his eyes and wondered at it. She'd never seen it before and couldn't identify it. Surely it wasn't what she thought. She was nothing. She had nothing to offer him. She wasn't even pretty, and certainly not with that horrid scar running down her cheek. Yet he had touched that scar, traced it with gentle fingers... did that mean he didn't mind it? Her mind whirled again.

“When you feel ready, go,” he said softly as he met her eyes and took her hand in his again. He had to touch her, one more time. “This is my gift to you. May it serve you well.” His fingers tightened slightly and then he released her. He wanted to touch that scar, to take her in his arms, to feel her against him, and he wouldn't. Not ever. She was human. She would never accept the advances of a Dwarf. Pain darkened his eyes for a moment.

She raised her fingers to his face, touching it lightly for the first time and was nearly lost. She needed to erase that pain, to ease it somehow. His hair, the braids were as soft as she had imagined, as was the beard. Her hand trembled slightly but she didn't move it away. “Come with me,” she whispered.

He couldn't step away. Hope blazed in his heart, and yet was tempered by sorrow. “I cannot,” he murmured. “I must stay with my people. Twas only happenstance that I chanced to be in the forest to find you before.” He held her eyes, so dark and yet so clear. “Stay.”

“I can't.” Inara felt something die inside her but she had to do this. She had sworn vengeance on Gharzgul and she wouldn't rest until she had it. She wanted to, oh how she wanted to stay, but she must uphold her vow. “Gharzgul still lives. I can't rest until he's dead.”

Thorin nodded. He had expected no less, though that didn't change the ache in his heart. “Then promise me you will return. Whenever you have need, or whenever you wish. There will always be a place for you here.”

“I promise.” Inara couldn't help herself. She placed a soft kiss on his cheek and left, headed for the stables to find a pony large enough to carry her. She still had a lot to learn; but she needed to be moving. She itched to find the Orc and end this.

Another surprise awaited her there, however. The stallion was midnight black, obviously well bred. Thorin came up behind her where he had followed and spoke quietly. “You left before I could tell you. His name is Wingfoot.” He stepped up beside her to regard the animal with a small smile. “He comes from the herds in Rohan. He is well trained as a warhorse, should you have need of such.” She would, he was suddenly certain. He feared for her, but he wouldn't try to stop her. She wouldn't be herself if she allowed herself to be coddled so. 

“I can't take all these gifts, Thorin,” she said softly. “You have to let me repay you somehow.” She wanted to earn her way. And yet, she didn't want to offend him. She was coming to realize how much he meant to her. As her friend, of course. Never anything more. He was a King and she was nothing. There would never be more between them, no matter how much she might want it.

“Then return whenever you may. I will count your friendship as payment enough.” He had to keep his voice firm. He wanted her to stay and she wouldn't. He wanted to go with her and he couldn't, not now. What had flared between them – it could never be. No matter how much he wished for it. She was human. And yet – she had returned his touch. She hadn't taken exception to his caress of her face. He shook himself inwardly. She was leaving. It could never be.

He watched as she saddled up, he watched as she took her leave, and he watched until she was lost in the distance, headed southeast. It was the direction in which they had last seen Gharzgul. Then he sighed deeply and went back inside the Mountain.


	6. Chapter 6

Six months passed before Inara returned to Erebor. 

She had tried not to. She had hunted when she needed meat and gathered what she needed the rest of the time. She had lived rough for a long time before she had met Thorin, and she knew what she needed to do. But she simply couldn't stay away any longer.

His touch haunted her. At night, when she camped, she would remember the closeness they had shared on their journey. She remembered his voice as he sang, how it had touched her. How he had touched her so gently, and how he had spoken of what vengeance could do to a person. She remembered HIM.

Even then, she had tried to stay away. She had hoped that with his absence, the attraction she felt to him would wane. It had been a vain hope. She missed him more with every day spent away from him.

She had already decided to return when the Orcs tried another ambush. There had only been two of them, and no Wargs, so it had been a simple fight, but still she was weary of watching over her shoulder. So she headed for the Mountain... and Thorin.

She had begun to think that perhaps he was right. Doing this alone was folly; there had been a few times in the last six months that she hadn't been sure she'd survive. Not the least of which was the sword stroke she had taken in her right side. The sword itself hadn't touched her; but the mail that stopped it had been damaged and driven into her flesh. It wasn't deep, hadn't needed stitching, but it had hurt like the bloody blazes and had forced her to lie up in a cave for several days until it stopped hurting every time she breathed. But she had made a vow, and she intended to fulfill it.

Still, it was a part of her decision to return. She needed time to finish healing, and this would be a more than comfortable place to do it. And maybe she could find a little peace at the same time. 

So thinking, she rode up to the gates and announced herself. It didn't take long for her to be passed through and she handed her reins to the stablehand. She was tired, now, weary to the bone now that she felt safe and she gave barely a thought to why that was. But first, she wanted to find Thorin.

It wasn't hard. Someone had sent him word that she'd returned and he met her halfway to the rooms she'd used before. She gave him a weary smile. “I promised to return,” she said softly. 

“And return you have.” Thorin embraced her lightly in the fashion of Dwarves and then stepped away quickly. It hadn't been a good idea. All he wanted now was to hold her close again. Being apart hadn't cooled his attraction to her at all. “Come. You need rest.”

She picked at her clothes a little. “And a bath,” she said plaintively. She didn't want to presume on his hospitality, but he had invited her before to make free of his home. And that embrace had lit a fire in her. She wanted to feel it again and she knew she shouldn't. She couldn't. She had to accept it as a friend and nothing more. 

He chuckled slightly as he offered her his arm. She was taller, of course, but not so much so as say, Gandalf. “And a bath, of course.” He gestured behind his back and one of the servants went scurrying away, presumably to freshen Inara's rooms and draw the bath. “And after the bath, we can discuss your journey.” He'd heard no word, so she hadn't found Gharzgul. The bards would have been singing it from the rooftops if she had. He was a nasty piece of work. 

A closer look at her had him concerned. She was thin, but not gaunt, and there were rents in her overtunic. The mail was dented in one place and he was suddenly certain she had barely avoided death. That wasn't to be borne, if he had lost her and not even known. Still, she wasn't his. She was his friend, but not HIS. She would never be his.

He stopped at the doorway to her rooms and gave her a quite proper Dwarvish bow. “Go, bathe,” he said easily. Then he laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Do you need the healer?” he asked quietly. He couldn't stand the thought of her being hurt; but it was unavoidable. She was a warrior, through and through, though she hadn't learned everything yet. Still, if courage was the key, she had plenty to spare. 

“No, I don't think so,” she replied softly, covering his hand with her own. Something was between them, something huge and unquiet, and yet neither could or would acknowledge it. “It's nothing. Bruising, mostly.” And still she couldn't look away from his piercing blue eyes. 

He forced himself to look away. “I'll have your armor repaired, then,” he said simply as he stepped back. No, he couldn't act on what he felt. “If you feel rested enough, you might join me for dinner.” A totally irreverent and irrelevant thought occurred to him and he almost explained that he meant the evening meal, not dinner, supper, snacks, or whatnot as the Hobbit had taught him. How Bilbo had stayed so lean while eating as much as Bombur was a mystery to him. 

She colored slightly but nodded. “I would be honored to dine with you,” she murmured. What was WRONG with her? It was almost as if he were courting her, and she just couldn't credit that. 

He wanted to comfort her hurts and soothe her spirit. She was driven, even more so than he remembered. She had said the right things, she had opened up to him, had even smiled for him, but still she held something back. He was in hopes that dinner would help her to relax even further. And suddenly he was aware that it appeared he was paying court to her – and the thought wasn't as impossible as he had believed. But slowly, very slowly; if she knew, she would run. He knew that as well as he knew himself, though he didn't know why. 

“Then I'll send for you when it's time.” He stepped away and let her enter her rooms, and when he turned, his heart was lighter than it had been for some time. Perhaps this was a mistake; but it was one he would enjoy making.


	7. Chapter 7

Several days passed and they seemed to regain the closeness they had shared during their journey. The days were spent apart; Thorin ruled his kingdom and Inara trained with Gloin, Fili, and Kili. Gloin's skill with his axe and Kili's with his bow made them excellent teachers and Inara learned from her bruises. Some days she despaired of ever learning enough to keep them from wanting more. And though Fili tried to teach her, her sword work got no better. 

Evenings were spent together, however. Whether they were in the Hall, listening to the music, or on the ledge above the Celduin's mouth, they were seldom out of each other's company. It was comfortable in a way neither of them had ever expected to feel. Unspoken was the attraction they both felt; neither would act on it, though Thorin occasionally made an excuse to touch her hand. It was the closest he would come to the caress he wanted to give, that he didn't dare give.

She began to be more open with them all, a ready smile for everyone, though to give her credit she still snarled at Fili every time he got through her guard with the practice sword. The bloody thing left bruises and she was tired of nursing them.

Then one morning, everything changed.

She arrived at the arena to practice with Fili and Thorin was there. She smiled widely and then realized he would hardly be there if she were improving. The thought made her groan. “I thought you were in council, Thorin,” she said quietly as she readied herself for another beating. Practice swords were wood instead of steel but that didn't stop the pain when one hit you. 

Thorin gave her a small smile, but there was concern in his eyes. “Gloin gives you high marks, but not the best. Kili says you shoot as well as he does, and that's no faint praise. But Fili... Fili says you still need work.” He gave her a level gaze, hiding his concern. If she left alone again, she might not come back. Abruptly he relented, softening his voice somewhat. “So perhaps I can help.” He knew she wanted to leave again, to go after that damned Orc. It would never stop, really, until one of them was dead; but he didn't want it to be her. He moved behind her and nodded to Fili. “The first thing to correct is your stance. Proper balance will give you more power to your strikes.”

Fili stepped into guard and Inara attempted to copy the movement. Thorin reached up and adjusted her arm slightly. “Better.” No, it wasn't. He was too close to her, he wanted to touch her, hold her, and that wasn't helping the lesson any.

Inara held her breath and then released it slowly. She felt the change in her balance; but it was his touch that held her attention. And it had only been for a brief moment. She had to concentrate to hear his words. “But what about in battle?” she asked, stalling for time. “Surely there's no time to adjust your stance when something is trying to kill you.”

“Probably not,” he agreed as he moved back slightly. “But that balance is important just the same. If you lose it, you'll end on the ground. Not a good place to be for reasons I'm sure you realize.” He moved closer again, taking her arms from behind and helping her to steady the “sword.” “Balance will help you in a lot of ways. More power, more assurance, more strength.” He stepped away again, watching her. This was important; he could think of the rest later. Right now, this could mean her life and that meant everything to him. “Now, let's see your work.” 

He watched as Fili ran her through her paces and groaned inwardly. He'd seen her fight; she was ferocious and nearly fearless. Those traits were admirable, but if she didn't learn balance, she would soon lose. First a battle, and then her life. Those who lived by the sword usually died by it and he wanted her to have a chance. Her luck was bound to run out, and soon.

And her need for vengeance had to be addressed. He knew first hand how it could twist a person, could make you simply run headlong into a battle, forgetting everything you had learned. Azog had proven that quite clearly to him and he regretted it to this day. 

Fili stepped back as she barely blocked his stroke, shaking his head. “You'll have to do better than that,” he grumbled. He looked over to Thorin, who was removing his cloak and overtunic. His mail was obviously well used, though also well kept. Inara stifled a groan; it put into sharp relief the power in his frame. She would have a hard time keeping her eyes off him and on that admittedly dangerous looking wooden sword he'd just picked up.

He moved to the center of the arena and made a few practice passes and Inara simply watched. She would never have the grace he showed, the skill he had with the blade. It had come from a long lifetime of wielding one, and while she had used one for a long time, it wasn't long enough. Not for the first time, she considered that he had been correct. Going after Gharzgul alone was suicide.

He watched her from the corner of his eye and saw the minute change that meant she was thinking. That was to the good. If she would just realize she needed help with her quest for vengeance, then this had already accomplished something. If she didn't realize it, and soon, she would be dead. 

He ran her through the paces as well and had to agree with Fili. She needed much more work. Although – it seemed as though she were holding back. 

A commotion in the corridor outside drew her attention and she was barely able to bring it back quickly enough to block a killing stroke. Her eyes met his and she had to force herself not to simply drop the “blade” and get lost in those piercing blue eyes. 

“Thorin!” Kili's voice penetrated her haze and Thorin's head whipped around, breaking the spell. There had been real concern in that cry. “A messenger from Bard in Esgaroth,” Kili gasped out as he handed the parchment to Thorin. “Orcs were laying siege to the city not two days past. He's asking for our help.”

“Roust our army,” Thorin barked as he shrugged back into his overtunic. The cloak went on next as he was moving fast. Inara followed. “I want to leave as soon as possible.” He gave Kili a stern look. “That does not mean two days from now. Make sure they understand that. We need to be underway no later than moonrise.” He turned to Inara. “This is not your fight,” he said evenly. “But if you wish to accompany us, you would be welcome.” And he would fear for her every minute, but he could no more ask her to remain behind than he could ask it of himself. She was not one to remain idle while others fought, especially against Orcs. 

“I'll get my sword.” Unspoken was the thought that perhaps Gharzgul would be there and she might be able to end this once and for all.

Thorin caught her hand as she went past. “This will not be like your hunts,” he said firmly. “You will obey my orders, or you will not go. And if I order you to flee, you will do so. Is that clear?” He had to know she would be as safe as he could make her. And he didn't relinquish her hand, either. 

She growled at him but still she nodded acceptance. She understood discipline and the chain of command. Then she relented and gave a slight pressure on his hand before releasing it and going for her gear.


	8. Chapter 8

Inara marched at the head of the column, next to Thorin. He had placed her there, in a position of honor, because that was where he wanted her. Not only because she was his friend; but because he could watch over her there. He was still concerned over her sword work. Gloin had mentioned she was good with an axe, but her chosen weapon was a sword, and she just wasn't good enough. Yes, she had defended herself ably in the Wild. But she had never been in a battle on this scale.

They had marched nonstop to reach the Long Lake, and they heard the battle before they truly saw it. Orcs were everywhere. The Men of Esgaroth were unable to leave the gates to defend their home; every time they tried, the first rank was decimated and the Men were forced to retreat back inside.

And above the rabble rose that thrice-damned Orc. Gharzgul. He remained on his Warg, surveying the carnage, occasionally roaring orders in the harsh Orc-speech. 

Inara saw red, but she waited for Thorin's command. She would not break discipline. He was in command here. But she was determined; given the chance, that Gharzgul would die this day.

Thorin didn't hesitate. She would hold her own or she wouldn't. These Men were his allies now and he would defend them. He gave the order to charge and the Dwarves barreled into the Orcs from behind, drawing their attention away from the gates of Esgaroth and thus allowing the Men to enter the fray.

He spared only a moment to check on Inara and had to stop and stare. She HAD been holding back. She fought as a woman possessed, and her sword work wasn't perfect but it was certainly effective. Then he was drawn back into the violence and had no more time to think on it.

Finally it started looking less grim. Orcs were fleeing before the Dwarves and Men. Thorin turned, surveying the battlefield, marking the positions of his own people, and especially his kin. Of Inara, there was no sign, and he felt the first stirrings of real alarm. Gharzgul was also conspicuously absent and his fear rose another notch.

A shout from behind warned him and he was able to spin, turning what was meant to be a killing blow to a glancing one. He went to the ground, tossed aside by the brute's hammer as Gharzgul roared past on that blasted Warg. 

He rose, sword in hand, fury etched into his face. He ignored the pain radiating from his side; it wasn't a killing wound and while it was bad, he could live with it. Gharzgul, however, was going to die. He would see to it.

A shriek of pure fury tore across the plain as Inara rose from the brush behind the Warg and slashed at it. Not at the Orc. The Warg gave him an advantage and she wanted it gone. Arrows pierced it as well and she pressed the advantage, knowing that Kili was helping her. But the heart of the matter was that the Warg had to go down before she would be able to make Gharzgul suffer. 

He had taken everything from her, and she had survived. She had recovered and found friendship, a new family it seemed, and now he threatened to take that away as well. She was well aware that if Thorin hadn't moved at the last moment, that hammer would have taken off his head. No more. Gharzgul was going to die, one way or another. Today.

The Warg went down. Kili's shot had taken it in the eye and it was quite dead. But Gharzgul rose from the wreck, fire in his eye and rage in his heart. 

Inara charged him from one side and Thorin the other. Gharzgul's hammer flashed out, again striking Thorin's side and he staggered back, then danced back forward to slash deeply into the creature's arm. Again the hammer boomed, and Inara was flung sideways, coming up slowly but steadily to cut into the Orc's thigh.

Together they harassed the Orc, biting deeply into him with their weapons, driving him backward until he was pressed against the body of the slain Warg, showing him no mercy. Thorin stepped forward, holding the creature's eye as it finally began to show fear. “I think I warned you that if she had you, it would take a long time to die,” he growled as he shoved the point of his sword against the thing's throat. 

Inara was nearly lost in the bloodlust. She wanted this thing dead. “You took everything from me,” she snarled as she raised her blade. “My family, my home, my life. And then you tried to take more.” Her eyes cut to Thorin for a moment. “You'll not harm anyone that way again. And you WILL NOT take him from me.” Her blade flashed quickly and the Orc's head rolled free of its body. She watched it fall, watched the body crumble, and stood there, immobile. 

Thorin dropped his sword to his side and stood for a moment also. Then he sheathed it and reached to touch her face, tracing her scar as he had the first time he had seen her. 

She turned then to face him, her eyes finally clear. The sorrow would remain with her all her days, but in hatred's place there was wonder. Her hand went to his, holding it to her cheek, and the other she lay flat against his chest. What had been there for months, silent but not hidden, now lay open to both of them.

Thorin pulled her down to him then, kissing her urgently as he had longed to do for months. She responded to it, both arms going around him, holding him as tightly as he held her. 

A cleared throat broke them apart guiltily and Thorin turned to see his kin, along with Bard, King of Esgaroth. “Your arrival was most timely,” Bard said simply. “You have my thanks. Come into the city. Let us bind up your wounds and rest with us for a time.” 

Thorin nodded. Now that it was over, all his hurts were conspiring to ache at once. And Inara, she must be in agony. She had many cuts visible, none life threatening, but she had to be feeling that hammer strike as well. “As you wish,” he said simply. 

He put an arm around her waist, holding her tightly against him, surreptitiously offering support as well as giving it. And that way they entered Esgaroth.


	9. Chapter 9

Inara squirmed under the physician's touch. Every part of her ached, it seemed. That hammer had hurt. But more importantly, to her mind, he was keeping her from Thorin. 

The first hammer blow, that had dropped him to the ground, she had thought her heart would burst with grief. When he rose from it, she had been amazed – and encouraged. And then when he had gone on the attack as well...

At first she had been furious. Gharzgul was hers, and hers alone. But common sense had asserted itself finally when Kili's first arrow found the Warg and she had welcomed Thorin's help with the damned Orc. If she had taken it on alone, she would be dead. She was good, but not that good. That hammer would have beaten her to a pulp.

“Leave off!” she snarled finally. “If you're going to bind anything up, do it and be done with it! And then let me alone. You cause more pain with your poking and prodding than the Orcs did with their blades.”

“Easy, lass,” Gloin said with a smile from where he sat at the foot of her bed. “Let them take care of you.”

“I've had enough coddling, Gloin,” she returned smoothly as she made to sit up. “I want to see Thorin.”

“Then see me you shall.” Thorin entered the room and Gloin immediately rose. He made a quiet excuse and left, allowing Thorin to fall into the chair at the end of the bed. “I should never have doubted your skill with a sword,” he said quietly. His eyes held hers, willing her to quiet while the physician finished his work. “You fight like one possessed. We should have thought that you did not fight as a Dwarf because you are not a Dwarf.” He raised a hand at the expression on her face. “That is not an insult, Inara. A simple statement of fact, no more. A compliment, if you will. You are one of us.” 

She allowed the physician to continue unhindered then, shocked by his words. And yet, it was what she had wanted, was it not? To belong. To have somewhere she could call home. And yet, she couldn't stay. That kiss was burned upon her soul, but she had nothing to offer him. She had not changed. She was what she was – a wanderer with nothing but her name to call her own. He was a King.

“Don't.” One word from him and the physician fled. Thorin had seen the shift of thoughts on her face and he wanted none of it. “Do not turn from me. We must talk, you and I.” Talk was not what he wanted to do, but he wouldn't frighten her. “Have you not seen?” His voice was soft, now, no longer angry. He couldn't stay angry at her, even when he knew she was going to run.

She nodded, unable to look away from him. Yes, she had seen what lay between them. She had welcomed his kiss, his touch. And she craved them. And yet at the same time, she was afraid of him. Of what he made her feel. She kept coming back to the same thing. He was a King. She was nothing.

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, favoring his side considerably where the hammer had scored. She, in turn, scooted back until she was flat against the headboard, as though fleeing him. The thought gave him pause and inwardly he cursed. “Be still.” He spoke as one used to being obeyed and she listened. “If you do not know how I care about you, then you are not as intelligent as I believed,” he said evenly. “You are not just my friend, Inara.”

“I know.” Her words were a bare breath of sound in the otherwise now silent room. “As you are more to me. But Thorin – I am nothing.” She felt the inevitable sorrow raise its ugly head. She wanted nothing more than to be his, and she couldn't. He was a King. He had a responsibility to his people.

“Nothing?” His voice was incredulous as he moved just a bit closer. He found that he didn't mind frightening her a bit now. She had to learn just what he held in check for her sake. He knew she felt the same. She had responded to his kiss, to his caresses. She would not have done, and not so passionately, did she not care for him as well. “How can you say you are nothing? You fought for years, a losing battle. Alone. You had the determination and the strength to continue that fight. Alone. It matters not that it was done for vengeance. You had the courage to fight. The courage to continue, even when it seemed all was lost. You had the courage to LIVE when everything was taken from you and the kindest thing would have been to let you die.” He could feel her listening, though she remained silent. “You have the heart of a hero, the courage of a warrior, the stubbornness of a Dwarf. You are so much more than you believe. Why can you not see that?”

He moved closer again, crowding her against the headboard, moving to have her within easy reach. Yes, he wanted her. He wanted her as he'd wanted none other. He wanted her with him always, for all his days. But he would not force her, no matter how deep his longing, his desire. “And this?” His fingertips stroked lightly over her scar once more. “This is a badge of honor,” he said quietly. “You have earned your scars. There is no shame in them.” Slowly he leaned in, giving her a chance to wiggle away if she wanted to, and kissed her. It was meant as nothing more than a promise, but he was undone when she responded to him. Both arms went around him, clutching him as a lifeline, and he groaned as he deepened his kiss, letting his hands stroke over her.

It was wild and tender, gentle and urgent, but not rushed and hasty. And when it was over, when they lay together spent and gasping, she pillowed her head on his chest and sighed softly. “I'm not a Dwarf, Thorin, for all you regard me as one,” she said softly. “What will your people say? Or your kin?”

Thorin shifted uncomfortably before settling her a bit more firmly against him. “They will accept my decision. I am their King.” When would she stop creating obstacles? They were together. They were one. “You have my heart,” he said softly as he held her close. “Does that count for nothing?”

“It counts for everything.” Inara kissed him lightly and then rolled away regretfully. She had seen the lines of pain radiating from his eyes, pain that he would never admit to. “You won't heal if I'm laying on you,” she said simply as she watched him. “Dwarvish pride. I know you're hurting, Thorin. Your eyes hide nothing from me.” Even as she said it, she realized it was true. He could seem stern and forbidding, cold, or utterly furious, but his eyes told the true story.

He made no answer and she merely watched him for a moment. His scars were horrible, but they took nothing from him, indeed they gave her a great respect for his strength. And his newest hurts seemed small and insignificant next to them. The bruise on his ribcage, however, looked utterly and completely agonizing. And he had held her so tenderly right on top of it? How had he stood it?

Her own hurts were throbbing madly now and she lay back beside him, twining her fingers into his. A sharp hiss of pain left her and still he made no sound, though his eyes tracked her every move. She was starting to feel like a rabbit under the gaze of a hawk. “Would you say something?” she finally asked plaintively.

“You talk enough for both of us,” he rumbled contentedly. “And the pain is not so great I couldn't hold you.” He wanted to. But he had come to understand he would have no part of her she didn't wish to give; that she had given herself to him so completely honored him. “Come. Rest with me. And if we are resting, that should pacify the physicians who will soon be at your door.” A quirk of his eyebrow showed what he thought of that idea. “Or have you forgotten I frightened yours away?”

“I had, at that.” Laughter shone in her eyes though she didn't allow it to escape. “Then rest, Thorin. Just rest.” She burrowed closer to him, letting him decide whether it hurt or not. He said nothing of it and she again put her head on his chest. His arm tightened slightly about her as he pulled up the furs with his free hand and then rested it on her shoulder. And with that contact, that simple touch, both were able to slip quickly into sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Thorin sat in Bard's Great Hall and waited. 

He had healed completely once again and it was nearly time for them to return to the Mountain, but Bard had promised a last night of revelry before they took their leave in the morning. But what he waited for – he would wait forever, if he must.

He waited for Inara.

He had not seen her for days, not since the physicians had found them together. To say that they had been displeased was putting it mildly. “Too much exertion” they said. “Not conducive to rest” they said. They didn't seem to realize that separating them wouldn't be very conducive to rest either. He had not truly slept since. No, he wanted her back in his arms.

He felt ridiculous. That the woman had such a hold on him, it wasn't to be borne. And yet, he cared not that his first thoughts upon waking were of her, and his last before sleeping. He hid a smile most of the time, now, not wishing to be seen as less fierce; his nephews would run wild if they thought he had gone soft.

Then he saw her. His breath left him in a rush as he stood. Her hair had been brushed to a high shine, the spun gold of it gleaming in the light of the torches, and the gown she wore suited her perfectly. The darkness of the velvet was shot through with bits of silver and Thorin thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. He went to her, silent, but his eyes spoke of his love for her and to her, that was enough.

Others, however, had noted his distraction and were amused by it. Kili watched avidly as his seemingly untouchable uncle was completely undone by the woman. “Now that's a pretty sight,” he said simply as he elbowed Fili to look as well. “I think we might get away with a bit more, now.”

“He's addled, that's what he is,” Dwalin said as he followed the brothers' gaze and chuckled slightly. “Not that she isn't a pretty bit of fluff.”

“Fluff she is not,” Balin interjected smoothly. “Don't you recognize her?” He was enjoying the scene as well but he wanted nothing to tarnish it. 

Bofur nearly stood up when it hit him. “That's Inara,” he said wonderingly. 

“It is not,” Ori breathed. “She doesn't look like THAT. She looks like one of us.”

“It is. And you lot will give her the same respect she has always received from us,” Balin said firmly. “There has long been something between them. It's time and past they did something about it.” He knew about the scene in the infirmary; the healers had kept it quiet but old Balin, he knew a lot more than people gave him credit for. And it was high time his King had acted on it.

Thorin and Inara, however, paid no mind to his kin. Thorin took her hand to lead her to a table and she smiled for him, truly smiled. Then she lowered her head slightly to speak to him, murmuring where only he could hear. “They wouldn't let me have my leathers or my mail,” she grumbled good naturedly. “But the sight of you in your finery more than makes up for it.” She tightened her fingers against his for a moment and then allowed him to seat her. 

Bard rose then, signaling for attention and being granted instant silence. “Tonight, we celebrate,” he said simply. “The Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, of Erebor, came to our aid when we called and for that we are grateful. That we have a home at all is largely due to our Dwarven allies and we honor them.” He raised his goblet high. “To the Dwarves!” Then he spoke again, his voice still firm and pleasant. “And to all who raised arms to protect and defend our home, I give my thanks. Tonight is for all. Enjoy!”

The minstrels came out then, spinning tales of bravery and daring, and then silence fell as the leader of the troupe stepped forward. “This tale I will now tell is one known not well, for the ending was written not so very long past. Yet I pray that you will hear it and live the tale – the tale of Inara Orcslayer and the death of Gharzgul.”

Inara blushed furiously as the minstrel told his tale, right down to the companionship of Thorin Oakenshield and their determined finish of the Orc on the battlefield. The singer then finished his tale and bowed low before her and Thorin. “What say you, Lord and Lady?” he asked simply. “Does my tale please?”

Inara fought down another blush and nodded while Thorin watched her instead of the storyteller. “Tis truth,” she was finally able to say. “And you sing it well. Thank you.” But she was uncomfortable now, uncertain of herself. Not for the first time she wished for her armor and leathers.

Thorin's kin saved her by raising a ruckus. Cheers went up from them, praise for the tale, then demands for more stories. Thorin took her hand as the attention shifted and drew her out of the room, out onto the wide terrace under the stars. “That was not at all what I expected,” he confessed as he regarded her steadily in the moonlight. “Bard must have commissioned the tale from them while we were indisposed.”

“It's all right.” And as suddenly as that, it was. Besides, she needed to get used to the attention. She was Thorin's. Thankfully that part hadn't been included, but anyone on that battlefield had seen him kiss her. And she would have to learn to deal with such if she wanted to stay with him. “I spent too much time alone, I'm afraid,” she said slowly. “It's hard for me to accept so many people around me.” She gave him a sad smile. “Will you be my champion, King Thorin? Will you protect me from myself?” she asked him quietly.

“Always.” His voice was soft as he turned her to fully face him. “I would do this properly, before my kin.” He gestured to one of the ever present guards and the Man departed, returning momentarily with Fili and Kili. The two younger Dwarves looked from one to another, noting the linked hands and Thorin's expression and swept into low bows, suddenly serious. They would witness this as their uncle wished.

Thorin caught her gaze and held it. “I would have you beside me all the days of my life,” he said simply. “My heart is yours, my life as well. I will honor you before all others and defend you with my life.” He couldn't look away. “Will you have me?”

Inara didn't hesitate. “If you will have me, for all the days of my life. As your heart is mine, then mine is yours. My life is yours. I am honored by your vow and will strive to be worthy of it.” 

And so it was that when the Dwarves left Esgaroth for their home in Erebor, Inara stayed by Thorin's side. She would remain there as long as he wished it. She was no queen, she was no warrior... but he wanted her and she would remain as his consort for as long as he wished.


	11. Chapter 11

Thorin watched his wife, sorrow in his heart. It had been several months since the battle at Esgaroth and while she seemed happy, she was growing different.

She loved him, he had no doubt of that. She was ever ready with an encouraging word, the touch of her hand on his, a quick kiss just when he needed it. But she paled here beneath the Mountain. She needed the kiss of the sun upon her hair, the feel of the wind upon her face. The ledge above the river's mouth simply wasn't enough.

Simple trips back and forth to Esgaroth weren't enough. She was happy here – but she might be happier among her own kind.

A bitter snort of laughter escaped at that thought. She was among her own kind here. This was her family, her home. Again he considered what he was about to do, and his courage nearly failed him. No, he had to do this; and it should be done quickly.

“Inara, come with me, please.” He took her hand and led her to the ledge, letting the sun break over them. She, who had spent her life outdoors, was now confined beneath his beloved mountain and it wasn't good for her. He should never have bound her to him as he had. “Please, sit with me.”

She did so, watching him carefully. Something had been wrong for days, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. And of course when she asked, he always answered that he was all right. But he wasn't, and she could see it. “What's wrong?” she asked gently again. She took his hand in hers, hoping for some reaction.

Thorin looked away for a long moment, drawing his courage and placing himself firmly in control. “I think it is time for you to leave.” Good, the words were firm, even, and just a touch of arrogance. Better that she hate him and live where she belonged than waste away beneath the earth.

“Leave?” The word was soft, hesitant. His face was stern, forbidding, and she couldn't credit the change. “Thorin, why should I leave? I don't understand.”

“You don't belong here.” Simple words, but they tore at his heart. He would never let her see how much it hurt him to hurt her. “You said it yourself. You are a wanderer, a hunter of Orcs. You should have no shortage of things to seek.”

“I took a vow, Thorin Oakenshield,” she began with some heat. “I vowed to be with you all of my days, I bound my heart and life to yours as you wished. Does that mean nothing?” She was angry, but she was more afraid. Why would he send her away?

“I release you from that vow.” Bleeding, he was bleeding inside. This pain rivaled that of his most devastating wounds, and yet he couldn't stop. “Go. You may take what you wish. I will leave no one as easy prey for the creatures who even now walk these lands. But you will go. And you will not return.” He kept himself turned away, unable to watch the pain on her face. And if she got a good look, she would know he meant not one word of what he was saying. He wanted her here; but it was best that she leave.

Her heart pounded and there was a roaring in her ears. Abruptly, everything settled into an icy calm. He wanted to hurt her, did he? Then he would have no sign of her pain. She withdrew within herself, as she had done for so many years and thought never to do again. “Then I will go, King Thorin,” she said evenly. She took her hand from his as though the touch burned and bowed low. “And you need have no fear of my return. I will make my way as I always have, and trouble you no more.”

He watched as she walked away, knowing the pain she tried to hide from him. He had seen her eyes, that most expressive part of her, and they glittered with unshed tears. He watched her walk away, knowing what an effort she made to appear unmoved by his words. He watched her walk away, and a part of him died inside. Slowly he drew his dignity about him once more, though he sat for some time, thinking and remembering, until Balin approached him finally.

“She left this for you,” he said simply as he handed Thorin the note. He hadn't seen what it contained, but from the look of his king, it wasn't anything good. “She's gone.” What had happened? The two of them belonged together, even his old eyes had seen it.

Thorin simply took the note and scanned it quickly, his face impassive but his blue eyes darkening with pain. 

To Thorin, King Under the Mountain, King of Erebor, Greetings.

You have required my absence, and I will accept that command. Never fear, you will not see me again, as you wish. 

I take nothing with me that you have gifted me, since that would be stealing. They were gifts of friendship, of love, and none of that emotion remains in either of us. Best you take back what you gave, as you have taken back your heart. Do as you will with these things, they no longer matter to me.

Farewell.

Inara

He closed his eyes for a long moment and then took a deep breath. “Aye, she is gone,” he said simply. “And she will not return.” No, he had hurt her too badly. Again he wished it hadn't come to this. That he could have found another way; but she would never have left him otherwise, no matter the harm she was doing to herself. She needed to leave the mountain and he could not. “It is done, Balin, and I will not speak of it again.”

Comprehension glared in the old Dwarf's eyes and he took a deep breath. “Mahal, Thorin, you sent her away? Are you mad?” He must be. Was it the gold fever? No, it couldn't be. But what else could explain the severing of the love they shared? Madness, it was madness, and they would both suffer for it. 

“I said I will not speak of it.” Thorin's voice was cold and commanding such as it hadn't been since they had retaken their home. “She is gone, and that is the end of it. Now give me the reports I asked you for this morning.”

Balin nodded and handed over the rolls of parchment. This was a mystery, and one he intended to unravel. If Thorin had taken leave of his senses – but he got no feeling of madness from his king. Sorrow, yes, a profound sorrow that bordered on despair, but no madness. Still, something was very wrong. And as soon as he was dismissed, he intended to investigate it. 

*

Inara walked into Esgaroth and went immediately to the forges. She had nothing to barter save her sword skills but if there was one thing she'd learned from her time with the Dwarves, it was that good armor meant the difference between life and death. And a good blade was worth its weight in gold.

But the smith wouldn't hear of barter. Nothing was too good for Inara Orcslayer, he claimed, and if she wanted to pay him, fine. But she could bloody well take her time for all he cared. And he would set to work the following morning to make mail and a good blade for her. She could come back in two days and check his progress.

She smiled slightly, though it didn't touch her eyes, and agreed. She knew when to give in gracefully, though she'd not had cause to for a very long time. 

It was the same story at the inn. She could have any room she chose, it seemed, and welcome to it. She was shown to a well furnished room above the common room with a good fireplace and many furs upon the bed. It was a room fit for royalty and she suddenly hated it. It was too much like her rooms in the mountain. “Your pardon, sir, but might you have something a bit less grand?” she asked quietly. “I am a simple hunter, after all. This is too much comfort for me.”

He looked at her askance but did as she requested, finding her a bit less of comfort and a bit more of just a place to rest her head for a few days. 

She hated all the to-do that she was causing. She was a simple hunter, no more. It wasn't as if she were a queen, or even Thorin's consort any longer. Then she groaned. Obviously they didn't know she'd been sent away and were trading on the notion that Thorin would pay everything when necessary. It was another blow to her already bleeding heart.

No, that couldn't be it. If they still thought of her as Thorin's consort, she'd be lounging in Bard's guest rooms for the night. Could it possibly be that they were grateful to her, as they were the Dwarves? They had made that pretty little tale of her... which was mostly boast. She hadn't been so noble as it made her sound. All she had wanted was vengeance.

Yes, that had to be it. Perhaps she could still salvage this. But she would repay every copper that they afforded her, that was her vow. Perhaps Bard would have something she could turn her hand to, to earn her keep. She would ask him in the morning.

So thinking, she composed herself on the furs, but it was several hours and many hot and scalding tears later before she slept.

*

“He sent her AWAY?” Kili's words were quickly swallowed up in the general expression of disbelief. Balin nodded, and eventually the babble died down. “I don't understand. You didn't see them that night, Balin.”

“No, you didn't.” Fili was just as convinced that his uncle had run mad. “They were – they were together. Both hearts... they beat the same.”

Balin nodded. “No, I didn't see them that night. But I have watched them since and I tell you, this smacks of some kind of madness. He would never have sent her away otherwise.”

“Not madness.” All eyes turned to Bofur, who looked thoughtful and then sad. “Unless loving someone more than yourself is madness.” He raised his head then, as though just noticing the others were watching. “She's human, for all we treat her as one of us. Humans don't do good underground, or so I've heard. Maybe he sent her away to get her aboveground.”

They all regarded each other in consternation. Finally Dwalin spoke, his rough voice of a necessity kept soft. “Doesn't matter much, does it?” he asked quietly. “He's been grouchy as a wounded bear since she left. Doesn't even realize it. And cold, like he was before.”

“Fili, Kili.” Balin spoke quickly. “You are the youngest, the quickest of us. Find her, but don't let her know it. Don't let any harm come to her if you can help it. Just follow her and send word when you can.”

“And what keeps her from harming _us_ if she finds out we're following her?” Fili demanded dryly.


	12. Chapter 12

Thorin ruled by day, and he ruled well, but others were beginning to notice his change and remark on it. He ignored the rumors and the gossip in public, but in private – in private, he indulged in a few snorts of derision at some of them. She had left him because she no longer fancied a Dwarf for a husband. She had left because her people called her home, and that was at least charitable. He'd sent her away because she'd angered him. Impossible. Or the worst one – that he had sent her into what amounted to exile because he'd simply tired of her.

He could never tire of her. Even now, her face danced before him, the vivid darkness of her eyes gleaming as she found something amusing or darkened with emotion. Her hair, so soft, the spun gold curling gently about her face, the face he so missed in his life. He missed her with every part of him, every shard of his broken heart. And yet he couldn't bring her back. He wouldn't if he could. It was better for her to stay away.

Such thoughts were lonely company, however. The emptiness of his rooms, his home, his very life – it gnawed at him. The loneliness was his constant companion, as it had been before they had retaken Erebor. He had never been so reminded of that time in his life until she had gone. Duty, responsibility, they were all he had left. 

His kin had tried to get the truth, to no avail. Thorin was as stubborn as any Dwarf, more so than most, and when he said he wouldn't speak of it, he meant it. And all attempts to the contrary had simply made things worse. Not even Balin, who had been his friend for many long, long years, had been able to breach the ice he had surrounded himself with. Not even his nephews' antics and pranks had been able to accord him much relief from the crushing loneliness he felt.

Speaking of which – they had been conspicuously absent for several days. What were they up to this time? And so thinking, he went in search of them.

*

Inara had found work, of a sort, though many seemed to think it was beneath her. She was riding escort to the trade caravans that ran between Esgaroth and Thranduil's realm in the Greenwood. It was thought that few would chance her sword should they want to rob the caravan, and for the most part, that was correct. However, the Orcs weren't afraid of her as they should have been, and she collected quite a few more kills to her credit, a few each day. And mostly, it was enough to keep her heartache at bay.

The other Men of the caravan treated her with respect, but they quailed beneath her dispassionate exterior. Those who might have become her friends were held at bay by the quiet desperation she seemed to hold. She gave no outward sign of distress, and yet those who were with her often had come to know a deadly sorrow held her heart. 

Her anger with Thorin had cooled, and yet she wouldn't return. He'd ordered her not to. Her heart was still his; that hadn't changed, nor would it. He might have released her from her vow, but she hadn't released herself. And she never would.

He haunted her. His face, so strong with character, his hair, still so dark and yet shot through with silver, his hands, so strong and yet so gentle... yes, he haunted her. And yet, what she missed the most were his eyes, the piercing blue of them so startling in all the darkness surrounding them. So expressive, so open, though he tried to keep his emotions to himself she had only to gaze into those sapphire pools to know exactly what he was feeling.

Enough, she told herself firmly. She regarded the fire quietly, though she didn't really see it. Her heart was in pieces, and yet there was no way for it to heal. 

A furtive noise in the night alerted her and she put her hand to the hilt of her new sword. A soft cry from the forest surrounding them made her pulse pound. More Orcs.

She roused her companions with a shout just as they poured from the trees. This, this she welcomed. It was the only time she truly felt alive, now, when there was sword work to do. These Orcs, though, these seemed even more determined to erase the Men than to take what the caravan had to offer. They weren't just looking for food or sport. They were out to destroy.

She spun in place at a familiar shout and saw the arrow pierce the eye of an Orc who had taken aim at her with his hammer. She nodded gratitude to the shooter, whoever he was; he was obscured by the press of the enemy and she had no time to try and remember the voice. Then she was hacking away again, trying to stay alive.

Once it was over, she made a careful circuit of the dead creatures to ensure none were pretending. The arrow in the one's eye she made careful note of. So, Kili was watching over her, was he? That meant Fili wasn't far behind, either. But had they come with Thorin's knowledge and consent? Doubtful. No, he had made it clear she was never to return. So why had they come?

She stood then, scanning the tree line. Yes, they were there, she could feel it. They had learned much of stealth since the days of their quest – she couldn't see them. “Come out here,” she growled. “Come on. We need to talk.”


	13. Chapter 13

“What do you mean, they aren't here?” Thorin's voice was deceptively soft. He was starting to suspect some kind of conspiracy and he was going to get to the bottom of it. That it was his kin involved didn't help matters, either. It only strained his temper to the breaking point.

“Just that. They aren't here.” Balin was attempting to soothe his king but it wasn't going very well. In hindsight, his decision to send the young ones to watch over Inara seemed a bit foolish. He should have chosen someone who wouldn't be missed. And he hadn't missed the slight flaring of Thorin's nostrils, either. Yes, his king was in a fit of temper, all outward appearance to the contrary.

“And where have they gone?” Thorin demanded suddenly. His voice was reasonable but Balin knew a moment's discomfort at having that stare fixed upon him. 

“Away.” Balin could play words with the best of them, though he didn't particularly enjoy doing it. “They'll be back soon.” I hope, was the unspoken conclusion to that thought and Thorin heard it clearly.

Thorin merely stared at him for several moments and Balin resisted the urge to squirm. He was older that Thorin, had seen him grow into his prime and his birthright, and he didn't fear his king. But that basilisk stare was unnerving all the same. “I will hear the truth now, Balin,” he said finally, his words very clear. “Where. Are. They.”

A good warrior knew when the fight was lost. Balin looked away for only a moment. Then he gave a small smile to his king. His friend. “I sent them after Inara.”

Thorin blinked. It was the only indication he gave of how much the news unsettled him. “You did what?” he finally ground out. 

“I sent them after her.” Balin didn't flinch from what he could clearly feel now as fury. It radiated from Thorin in waves, along with something else he couldn't quite grasp. “I sent them to watch over her, to protect her if she needed it. Now I know she can take care of herself, but she has a tendency to rush in where she should be patient. Not unlike someone else I know.” 

“Be that as it may, Balin.” Thorin was still angry, but he had to admit a certain jealousy as well. He held the emotion close for only a moment before pushing it down deep inside himself where it could be examined at his leisure. And yet, there was a certain amount of hope there, as well. Balin was right. She was headstrong and sometimes over estimated her strength of arms. Not unlike a certain Dwarf he could remember, and the thought gave him pause for a moment. At least she would be safe. Fili and Kili, having been told to guard her, would do so to the exclusion of their own safety. He let go of his rage with a sigh. “Thank you.” The words were soft.

Balin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Now that we've that out of the way,” he said simply. “You used to talk to this old Dwarf, lad. Why don't you try doing that again?”

Thorin sighed heavily. Yes, he could rest easy about her safety, but not completely, and now he had those two rarely serious nephews of his to worry about as well. Still, he felt a sense of relief that they were together. “Not here.” He indicated the open nature of the room they stood in. “Come.”

(scene shift)

“Well?” Inara demanded as they stood before her, looking like two guilty boys trying to avoid a strapping. “What have you to say for yourselves? Thorin will not be pleased.” That was an understatement. Thorin had sent her into what amounted to exile and that he wanted her left alone went unspoken. These two were obviously looking out for her welfare and there was no possible way he would have sent them. 

Fili and Kili looked at each other for a moment before finding the courage to speak.

“Balin sent us.”

“He wanted to be sure you'd stay safe.”

“Uncle was wrong to send you away.”

“Very wrong.”

“You should come home.”

“Yes, come home.”

Inara shook her head at the suggestion but when they would have continued the back and forth they had so admirably used she finally lost patience. “Enough!” she roared and they fell silent, watching her with wary eyes. “I cannot come home,” she said softly, her pain locked deep inside and yet visible for them to see. “I have no home. Thorin has decreed it so. I cannot go back.”

They paused for a moment, glancing at each other, before starting in again. 

“Then we'll stay with you.”

“Balin wanted us to keep you safe.”

“So we'll keep you safe.”

“Not that you can't keep yourself safe.”

“No you're perfectly capable but we'll stay anyway.”

She settled for growling at them this time and they shut up again. She wanted to dash their heads together for being annoying and at the same time, she had missed them and their antics. They could always make her laugh and if she weren't so heart sore, she would be at least smiling now.

“Inara, a word.” The captain of the escort gestured her over. “You know they won't be welcome in the Greenwood.” He kept his opinion to himself but he didn't want trouble of any sort. The Orcs were bad enough. “Best they go home, or wait here.”

She gestured for the Dwarves to introduce themselves. The names might soften the captain's heart a bit; and surely it would give him no cause to doubt their abilities as guards if it became necessary. As for being welcome in the Greenwood, well, Thranduil and Thorin had an uneasy peace. Neither would outright insult the other and that meant they would be safe enough there. Maybe not appreciated, but at least not denied passage.

They glanced at each other and then spoke, completely serious now. “Fili and Kili, at your service, sir.” Both bowed low.

“Oh. Them.” The captain watched them for a moment. “Fine. But any trouble and they leave. And it's coming from your pay.” He hadn't approved of Inara from the first, Orcslayer or not. A woman simply shouldn't be doing a man's work. 

She nodded and then grabbed each of the Dwarves by an ear. “Now, let's talk.”


	14. Chapter 14

Thorin and Balin sat opposite each other at the table in Thorin's rooms. A cask of ale sat between them, as yet untapped, but obviously meant for this discussion. Thorin was already regarding it steadily.

“Well, go on then, lad,” Balin said evenly. That this would be difficult for the younger Dwarf was obvious. If the drink helped him to tell it, then so be it. And besides, what Dwarf would refuse an ale when it was offered?

Thorin tapped the keg and drew off a mug, then another and handed that one to Balin. He took a long swallow as though gathering his thoughts and then faced his friend, his eyes hooded, his face impassive. “I sent her away.”

“Yes, I understood that,” Balin said gently. “I believe I asked if you had gone mad and was told to mind my own business.” He took a long pull at his own ale, giving the other a chance to think for a moment. “Why would you do such a thing?” he asked gently. 

“For her own good.” Thorin took another long drink and then refilled his mug. “She doesn't belong underground. She should be in the sun, not buried in the earth.”

Balin sat back, considering. It seemed Bofur had been correct; Thorin sought to save her from herself. The problem was, the woman didn't want saving. “So, to protect her, you hurt her badly. You tore her heart as well as yours. Mahal, Thorin! If she doesn't hate you, she should. She left behind everything you had ever given her, and no woman does that unless she's been dealt an unforgivable hurt.”

Thorin drained another mug and was well into the third before he spoke again. “I know,” he said simply. “I had to be certain she would not return. She means more to me than you can ever understand, Balin, but she cannot stay under the mountain.”

“Why not, if that is her choice?” This, this was the heart of this matter and he had to make Thorin see reason. “Thorin, think. Would she ever have left you had you not ordered her away? Think carefully before you answer. I do not believe she would ever have left your side for anything less than death. Now? Now I think you might be hard pressed to keep her from killing you if she saw you again.” No, she wouldn't. Balin knew that as surely as he knew Thorin was utterly miserable at her absence and wouldn't admit he had made a mistake. 

“She doesn't belong here, Balin.” Thorin's words were sharp and pained. “Humans need the sun, the wind. I could not give her that, locked deep under the earth. She isn't a Dwarf, to live her life below ground.”

Balin wished for a moment that he had brought Dwalin with him. The bigger Dwarf could have merely thumped Thorin about the head and shoulders until he understood. “That doesn't answer my question. Would she have left you?”

“No.” One word, so full of pain and anguish that it cut across the room as a knife slices skin. “No. She would not have left.” Thorin's face hardened once more into impassive lines, hiding what he felt, drawing inside himself once again as he had all his years of wandering. His heart still bled, more so now that he truly understood. 

Balin tracked the realization on his king's face and nodded slowly. “Then send for her. Let them bring her home.”

“No.” Again, there was pain, but there was also strength. “Simply sending for her would not be sufficient. She is as stubborn as any Dwarf; she would not believe the summons came from me. I must go myself.” He arched a brow at the older Dwarf. “It would help if I had some inkling of her whereabouts.”

“That, I cannot say. I sent the young ones to find her, but they have not returned.” That bothered Balin, but it was a small concern as yet. “As for being human – Thorin – in that you are wrong, as well.” Thorin's face turned thunderous and he raised a hand. “She may have been born human – but she is as much a Dwarf as you or I. Courage, strength, stubborn pride – aye, she is one of us in truth. Just a bit taller.”

That made Thorin smile, though it was a small one. “Aye. And when Fili and Kili return, I will go to her and see if that stubborn pride will allow her to forgive me.”

*

Inara ground her teeth. She couldn't get a straight answer from those two no matter what she threatened them with and she wanted to scream.

A shout from the captain brought her up short and she turned to the Dwarves, question in her eyes. They had not yet reached the Greenwood. Why were they stopping?

The captain came to her side then, his face set and drawn. “There are Orcs ahead,” he said simply. “And many more than a simple raid would call for. I'm sending the caravan back. Trade goods aren't worth so many lives as we would lose.” He regarded her steadily. “If I were you, I'd scout ahead and see what you can discover. That much noise... it's a war party.” He glanced at the Dwarves and back to her. “We'll be headed back to Esgaroth. Catch up and report.”

Inara nodded and slid down from her mount, gesturing for Fili and Kili to do the same. If she was going to scout, she wasn't going alone, not with a war party in the trees. She wasn't completely stupid. 

They crept forward silently, carefully, and then simply stopped at the top of the rise, staring at the sheer numbers they faced. A war party, indeed. It seemed almost an army. 

They kept silent, watching. Many things were being said, orders being discussed. One thing leaped out at them and they regarded each other in consternation before leaning in to listen even more closely. The Orcs were marching, yes... on Erebor? Why? What possible reason could they have?

A snarl from near the center of the rabble caught their attention and they stared in shock. This Orc was obviously their leader, and he was huge. Not just in stature. Muscular and with a presence drawn from fear. Inara had never seen his like.

Fili and Kili, however, were another story. “A Gundabad Orc,” Fili breathed. “We thought Azog the last of them.”

“We have to warn them,” Inara murmured as she drew back. The brothers went with her and they caught up their mounts, intending flight. “Esgaroth lies between these Orcs and Erebor. They need to be wary as well.” She didn't think these would stop at Laketown, however. They had expressed a very real desire to destroy the Dwarves and take the Mountain for their own. She drew her horse toward the caravan where she reported the Orcs and the reaction was swift. Traces were cut, wagons left by the wayside as the Men sought to flee before the threatening horde. The hired swords would warn Bard, and that left the three of them to reach the Mountain before the Orcs.

“Fili, Kili, go. Warn Thorin. I'll follow as I can. There are still a few tricks I can use to slow this rabble down.” She made to turn but Fili grabbed her bridle as Kili forced his pony against the greater beast, turning it northward as well.

“We're responsible for your safety,” Fili said simply. 

Kili simply nodded and stayed near enough he could crowd her if she again tried to turn. They weren't going to leave her here, alone against an army. They would all head for the mountain.

“Then we should run.” The noise behind them was intensifying and she knew they had been discovered.

Her horse would outrun those ponies easily and that wasn't to be accepted, either. Abruptly she stopped dead and slid down. “Fili, you're tall for a Dwarf. Take my horse. Run. Get to Thorin, tell him what's happened and what marches on his home.” She nodded to Kili. “You and I will follow on the ponies. We should still be able to outrun them, but if we can't, there are tricks we can use to slow them down. Fili, go!”

She all but threw him into her saddle, hoping he would just go. She knew it would tear at him to leave his brother, but it was necessary. Thorin had to be warned.

They watched him out of sight as the sound behind them moved closer. “Ready?” she asked Kili as she threw herself aboard the pony. “Run!”


	15. Chapter 15

Thorin had the defenses set. The lines were drawn, from the Great Gate down to the ruins of Dale, and sentries stood watch. In Esgaroth, as well, they were preparing for war. The force Fili had spoken of when he arrived, breathless and determined to go right back out after them, it was almost unbelievable. Not since the Battle of the Five Armies had any force of Orcs so great even approached the mountain.

Fili was raging to get back to his brother but Thorin stood firm. His own heart was in shreds yet again at the possibility the two were lost, but he had a responsibility to more than just his kin and his wife. His people needed protection and Fili would help with that.

They could hear the tramp of feet across the valley, and yet the enemy was still unseen. Fear began to show on some of the younger faces and Thorin watched them. They had shown no fear during the battle at Esgaroth. Something was wrong here, very wrong. 

And still Inara and Kili were missing.

Thorin had to force himself away from thoughts of Azanulbizar. From the day he had become Thorin Oakenshield, and true leader of his people. From the day he had seen most of those people fall before the hordes of the Orcs and Goblins who had taken Moria for their own. 

Now it seemed the day was to be repeated here. They were few, still. If the Men came to their aid, perhaps they could win... but it would be close run. That many feet, heard so far away... it was calculated to cause fear.

He took hold of his wayward thoughts quickly. Fear, he would not allow. It would not control him.

A mounted Man approached the Gate and Thorin waved him inside. He met the messenger, wondering what Bard would have to say.

“We stand ready to your aid, Thorin Oakenshield,” the messenger announced as he handed over a parchment. “King Bard says if you will allow the enemy to approach, we might fall in behind and close them in a vise.” He waited for Thorin's answer.

Thorin nodded. “Tell him we are grateful to have such a powerful ally and that we will do as he suggests.” He gave a considering glance to the Man. “Have your caravans returned?”

“Yes. The goods were lost, but that is to be expected. The guards... not so much so.”

Thorin felt something tighten in his chest. “Which guards?” he demanded. He had learned from Fili what Inara had been doing, and if she was lost...

“Inara Orcslayer remained behind with a Dwarf of her acquaintance. They were going to try to reach the mountain before the army, but failing that, they would fight a delaying action.” He indicated the approaching Orcs. “It seems they were somewhat successful. Those Orcs should have been here hours past.”

That was hope, of a sort. It meant that as recently as a few hours ago, they were still alive. Thorin nodded, dismissing the Man silently, and prepared to return to his position. 

Shouts from below alerted him and he spun, watching. Two riders raced across the open space between the armies, their ponies laboring badly and yet still moving fast. Orcs followed close behind, nearly close enough to touch, and yet remaining just out of reach.

Thorin shouted a command and the archers went into play, firing at the pursuing Orcs, trying to give the pair enough running room to reach safety. 

One pony went down, then the other, pierced by Orc arrows. The riders rolled and came up sprinting madly for the Gate, but unlikely to make it. The archers continued support, but it looked hopeless. The pair was slowing down, due no doubt to injury as well as fatigue, but they would not stop. When one faltered, the other offered support, and vice versa. Finally they were able to get past the first line of defense and the Orcs stopped, reluctant to come closer yet. 

Dwarves rushed to their aid, supporting them both as they gasped and wheezed for air. Fili threw himself forward, embracing his beloved brother, holding him tightly and offering his hand out to Inara. To find them both alive was a gift to him. He had been certain, after she had thrown him on his way, that he wouldn't see either of them again.

Inara grasped his hand gratefully before landing once more on one knee and one hand, holding herself steady as she tried to regain her breath.

Silence descending into the cavern as Thorin approached. Inara immediately straightened, her eyes guarded, her face impassive. He had sent her away, sent her into exile. She had ignored that command and returned as she had been warned not to. 

He went first to Kili, embracing the boy and whispering something to him that caused a wide smile. For a moment he simply watched the younger dwarf, as though reassuring himself that Kili was really there. “You're hurt,” he said simply. “See the healers and then get to a spot with the other archers.” He knew the boy was good with a sword, fierce as fire, but he was better with a bow and a bit more protected behind the lines as an archer. Fili was a bit older, a bit more seasoned, and without a doubt good with his blades. Yet if there was a way to keep him off the front lines as well, Thorin would have done it in without question.

Then he turned to Inara. He said nothing, merely watched her, and she slowly knelt before him as she should her king. That he WAS her king went without question. He held her heart, even if he didn't care. He held her loyalty. And this was her home. So, regardless of how angry she was or how hurt she had been, she would show him respect.

He drew her up, oblivious of the stares they were receiving. She kept her face impassive, not wishing him to see the uncertainty she felt. After several long, tense moments, she found her voice. “We can discuss my disobedience to your orders another time, my lord,” she said simply. “Right now there are Orcs at the Gate.”


	16. Chapter 16

The battle raged. The Orcs had shown no mercy. Within an hour after Kili and Inara had made it into the mountain, it was under siege. There had been no time for idle talk of any kind; they were too busy trying to defend their home and simply stay alive.

Bard's men had not appeared and the valley was overrun with Orcs. Dwarves poured forth into the fray, and it was not enough. Inara stayed near Thorin, trying to be unobtrusive about it and failing, and yet it would not be enough. They were losing ground, and quickly.

And over it all stood that giant Orc.

Not once had he entered the battle. Not once had he made a sound, other than to growl if something came too near. He stayed near the rear of the fighting, watching, waiting for something as yet unknown. But when Thorin took the field -

\- The Orc gave a great roar and strode into the fighting, his long sword making quick work of those in his path. He snarled something in Orcish and the others fell back from him, allowing him a clear path toward the mountain. “King Under the Mountain!” he snarled, his rage plain. “See how your shield fares against me, Dwarf!”

The lesser Orcs fell back, loosely ringing the big one and Thorin. Movement came to a standstill, and silence fell across the valley. Inara tried to push forward to him but Dwalin on one side and Bofur on the other kept her still. 

Thorin simply glared at the beast as he twirled Orcrist into ready position once more. “Should I know you, or are you simply one more filthy Orc to slaughter?” he taunted. Inwardly, he was a bit concerned. He was not so young as he had been when he had slain Azog, and this Orc was in his prime. Again, he would not allow fear to control him. If he was to die, he would die well. His only regret would be not telling Inara how he felt.

The Orc snarled at him again. “I am Razhnok,” it ground out as it took a swing at Thorin which was quickly blocked by the shield. “And there are MANY of my kind who wish to see you dead, Dwarf.” 

So that was it. This thing wanted to kill him as a mark of achievement. He hadn't known Orcs could comprehend such a thing. Thorin kept his eyes on the chest. That would give him the clearest sign of the next move. Not the hands, not the eyes – the chest. And he was warned when it took another swing at him.

He blocked it easily but the power in the stroke drove him downward. He recovered quickly and stepped back, his face expressionless but his eyes filled with fury. “If you wish to dance, then we shall dance, monster,” he spat angrily. He let the bloodlust fill him, but not control him. This thing would die. 

He heard the cries behind him, heard his people calling encouragement, heard Inara's voice among them and it strengthened him. But he had no illusions; if he failed, they would all die. If he succeeded, if he destroyed Razhnok, it would mean nothing. The other Orcs would destroy his people who were left. 

Sound from the rear of the enemy lines washed over them and Razhnok turned, his eyes widening slightly as his troops began to run toward the mountain. Swords began to clash again as the focus was lost and the Orcs fought for simple survival.

Bard's Men had come. 

Thorin felt relief crash over him even as he went on the attack, forcing Razhnok to fall back as blow after blow bit at him, slashing and slicing. He felt rather than heard his own people slamming into the enemy, felt the turn of the tide, and it gave him an enormous lift. His people were fighters all.

His momentary inattention cost him. Razhnok's scimitar came down in a savage arc and swatted aside Thorin's shield, biting deep into his side and he cried out in agony. He staggered back, Orcrist held to guard, watching the thing come at him again. His rage swelled within him and he was able to raise Orcrist once more, blocking the stroke and throwing the Orc backward in surprise. Azog had not killed him. This thing, foul as it was, wouldn't kill him either. 

A scream of horror hit him just before the spear. He didn't have breath enough to scream this time. Orcrist fell to the ground as both hands wrapped around the shaft and he went to his knees. It was almost directly where the other had struck him, years ago, and if possible, hurt more.

Frantic war cries went over his head as his people tore into the enemy. He knew he needed to help them, but he couldn't rise. The pain was too great and he was too weak. Orcrist lay next to his fingers and he hadn't the strength to raise it. He was barely able to raise his eyes to find the Orc looming over him, scimitar in hand, ready to cleave his head from his body.

Arrows flew above him and struck Razhnok, driving him back once more, and then Fili's blades were slashing at the Orc, biting deeply, harassing it while Kili shot it. It was slowing, losing blood quickly, badly hurt, and yet still struggling to get to Thorin. That was, until Fili's blade caught it in the throat.

The fight was over, the day won. The Orcs that remained were being hunted down by Bard's men and slain. It was over.

But at what cost?


	17. Chapter 17

Inara waited with the rest of the Company while the healers cared for Thorin.

She knew she should leave. He hadn't told her to stay. He hadn't said a word to her, just held her hands and looked at her. And his eyes, she had seen nothing in them. Those expressive, beautiful eyes, and they had been unreadable. His only response to her had been a slow nod and a withdrawal of his hands from hers.

She couldn't leave. Not with his life in the balance as it was. She had too many things she needed to say to him first. He might have taken back his heart, but she hadn't. And seeing him struck down as he had been, it had been almost too much.

Kili sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders comfortingly. She, in turn, rested her head against him and sighed heavily. She was so very tired. They all were. But none of them would leave until they knew if Thorin would live.

Balin was heavily bandaged but still moving. He claimed his wounds were not so great as to keep him abed, but she had seen the weary pain in his eyes. Dwalin hadn't yet been tended; every time a healer came near him he growled and frightened them away. None of them were unscathed.

She herself carried a new scar, or would when she had healed. It would be difficult to walk for a time; her left thigh had taken an arrow strike and the muscle felt dreadfully sore. But she didn't care much at the moment; the pain was simply something that existed. She was too worried about Thorin.

Oin came out then and they all watched him for some sign. “He is not a young Dwarf,” he said slowly, “and his wounds are severe. Time alone will tell now. He sleeps.”

Inara stood slowly, keeping the wall at her side. It was hard to make the leg work at all and the wall helped keep her upright. But she was going to see Thorin.

Kili rose next to her and Dwalin on the other side and supported her, helping her to get to the bedside and making sure she was comfortable. Bofur brought a stool on which to prop her injured leg and a cushion to put under it. Then they simply sat, drawing up stools, chairs, or even just pieces of the floor. All of them. The healers had taken their turn. Now, the Company, plus one heart sore human woman, would keep vigil.

*

Days passed. Inara never left Thorin's side, save when Oin forced her to have her own wounds tended and to exercise the muscle of her thigh. It took a few scant moments and she was right back in her perch by his bedside, his hand in hers. She spoke to him often, her voice soft and soothing, but she didn't know if he heard her. 

She heard him. When he shifted, he would cry out in agony and it took everything she had to keep from weeping at the sound. She wanted to take that pain from him but of course she couldn't. She could only speak soft encouragements to him, and she was painfully aware it wasn't enough.

He never truly woke. The herbs the healers used to try and blunt the pain made him sleep and it was only when those wore thin that he became restless enough to try and move. Yet she held the hope that somewhere deep in his drugged slumber, he knew she was there.

Despair crept over her when his fever rose. Oin attempted to reassure her, telling her that wound fever wasn't uncommon, and while serious, it was quite manageable, but she was afraid. She was afraid he would never heal, never wake. The spear had taken him in a bad place, high on the left of his chest, becoming lodged in the blade of his shoulder and having to be forcibly removed. Add to that the damage Razhnok's scimitar had done and Thorin was lucky to be alive at all.

She held his hand while he thrashed in pain, and as his fever grew, he began to speak. Desperate words fell from his lips but she couldn't understand them. The sound of Khuzdul filled the sickroom and she wanted to know what he was raving about but she couldn't leave him to find someone to ask. Then one word among the flood hit her and she froze, one hand on his fevered brow, the other gripping his hand, and stared at him in shock.

“Inara.”

Such longing, fear, despair, and sorrow her name carried when he spoke it and she had to close her eyes against it. What had she done to make him feel so haunted? “I'm here,” she murmured. “Thorin, I'm here. I won't leave you, not again, not unless you send me away.” But he was hot to her touch, so hot, how could anyone be so hot and live? She was terrified.

Her words seemed to reach him. He subsided, his breathing slowing to something approaching normal but he was still so, so hot. 

Strong arms came around her from behind, gently raising her from her seat and she fought for a moment. “Easy, lass,” Dwalin's voice grumbled in her ear. “Come away, now. You won't want to be here. They've got to clean the wounds.”

“I won't leave him!” She fought harder. “Dwalin, I can't leave him, I can't!”

He didn't give her a choice. Thorin was once more quiet, but he wouldn't remain that way. Cleaning those ghastly injuries was going to hurt, even more than he already endured. Dwalin ushered her into the hallway and allowed Oin and the other healers inside, and sat her on a stool just outside the door. “You're not leaving him, Inara, and he knows that,” he said simply. “But Thorin is a proud Dwarf, and he won't want you to see this. It – it's like before. He will scream, and he will cry, and he will rage – and all that will reduce him in his own eyes, make him seem less than he is, and he won't want you to see it.”

So far they had managed to do this while she was out of the room, but today was different. Oin wanted to clean everything again, more thoroughly if at all possible, using the strongest medicines they possessed. Those in themselves would be agonizing. But Oin had confided in him that Thorin was failing and if there wasn't a drastic improvement, and soon, he would die. And that wasn't to be borne.

Inara subsided, wanting to weep. She wasn't stupid; she knew the risks here. Thorin was so, so sick. Still, she tamped down that wish and forced herself to breath deeply, forced herself to calm. “They'll need you, then,” she said evenly as she sat back against the wall. “Go on. I'll stay here.” She wanted to go back in, needed to, but everything Dwalin had said was true. So she endured, sobbing once when the screams from within reached a new level.

Suddenly they stopped and she was on her feet, he fingers reaching for the doorknob, terror large within her. Oin appeared before she could touch it, looking drawn but hopeful, Dwalin close behind. The other healers took their leave, but Oin remained to speak to her, touching her hand gently. “The fever should break, now,” he said quietly as he placed a tiny object into her grasp. “A splinter of the spear's shaft,” he said simply. “It had worked its way near to the surface where we could finally remove it. That should be the last of it. He will heal more quickly now.” 

Inara just stared at it. Such a tiny thing it was, and it had caused so much grief. But there was no doubt when she returned to his side that Thorin rested much less fitfully. She again took his hand in hers, gently rubbing her thumb over his palm, hoping that he could hear her. “I'm here,” she murmured. 

It was hours before she felt the tiniest return pressure on her fingers. She sat bolt upright, forcing down a short cry of pain as her injured leg twinged from the sudden movement, and put her free hand to his brow once more. “Thorin?” she whispered. She didn't want to wake him if he wasn't already. Perhaps that movement was something unconscious.

“Inara.” His voice barely reached to the edge of the bed but she heard and felt relief flood over her. His fingers tightened against hers once more. “I thought I had dreamed you here.”

“No dream, Thorin,” she murmured back as she touched his cheek. “I'm here. And I won't leave you again unless you force me away.” No, she wouldn't. She loved him enough to leave him alone if that was what he wanted – but she would remain near.

“I should never have sent you away,” he managed to grind out. His voice was soft, too soft, but he had no strength to raise it. “Forgive me.” He felt as limp as an old dishrag. He couldn't even tighten his fingers against hers. 

She placed a finger against his lips. “Just rest, Thorin. I forgive you. But you must rest.” She couldn't tell him how close he had come to death. Inside, she was shaking. It had been so close. “We'll speak more when you're better.”

He couldn't even nod. He held her eyes with his for long moments, blue locked with brown, trying to say all he felt without words and not knowing if he succeeded.

Her face softened and her fingers again caressed his cheek. “Rest, Thorin. I'm not going anywhere.”


	18. Chapter 18

Inara was in search of Kili. 

The younger Dwarf had taught her the bow and they had become fast friends over it. And she had some questions she wanted to ask that she was certain the others would never answer. Such as the phrases Thorin had been shouting in his delirium. Khuzdul was a private, secret language, never taught to outsiders. And she was desperate to know what he had been saying. He had sounded so broken, so lost, that she wanted to understand.

She found Kili just coming back into the mountain and waylaid him quickly before he could get into any mischief. “I need to talk to you,” she said without preamble. “In private.”

Kili grinned at her. “In private? Of course. I knew you'd come to your senses one day and run away with me.” He took her down the hall a short way to a small room off to the side, barely noticeable. Once inside, however, his teasing stopped completely and immediately. “What is it? You're troubled, even I can see that.”

She nodded, almost unable to speak. What if the things she had heard were sacred, secret? “Thorin – he raved in his fever,” she said softly. She couldn't look him in the face. “In Khuzdul. And my name. I – I need to know what he said.” He'd asked her forgiveness when he woke, but those words had been so despairing, so lost, that she NEEDED to know. Had he been cursing her? No, that would have been anger. But she had to know. And she couldn't ask HIM. Now that he'd been released from the healers' care, he had thrown himself into ruling his kingdom. They were together again – but not as they had been. 

Kili simply stared at her. Out of all the things she could have chosen to talk to him about, this was the most surprising. “Not at all what I was expecting,” he said finally as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “You could have asked Balin.”

“He wouldn't answer this question and you know it,” Inara offered back with a sigh of frustration. “Kili, please. Tell me what he said. I have to know.”

He sighed heavily. “Inara, it's Khuzdul.” He tried to explain it to her with a look and she obviously wasn't understanding. “I can't. We don't tell others about it. It's ours as few things can be.” But he hated the look on her face. She was his friend, she was his aunt, really, Thorin's wife, and he was about to get himself in trouble again. But he couldn't tell her. He couldn't. Could he? Finally he shrugged. “Tell me what he said.”

Relief flooded through her and she recounted every syllable though she stumbled across some of the words. She told him everything, right down to the anguish she'd heard, the desperate, longing sound of her name as he cried out. 

Kili considered her for a moment longer, stalling for time. How could he explain it? Thorin had essentially cut out his heart when he sent her away, and he was mourning the action, but it was so much more than that. He had let NO ONE see the true depths of his pain, and only fever had forced it from him at the last. “I don't know how to explain it. If it was just the words, it would be easy. But some of Khuzdul is in the sound, the emotion BEHIND the word. If how you describe it is true – he was in agony, and not of the body.” He caught her eye and held it. “Did he ask your forgiveness?”

Slowly she nodded. All of this was very mysterious, but if it helped her to understand, then she'd answer anything he asked. “After he woke. And I gave it. Kili, please, I don't understand!”

The others would kill him later he was sure but he had to answer her. He had to give her some peace from the uncertainty he saw in her. “He was grieving. He was sure you weren't there, that you were gone forever. That you had died on the battlefield and he'd had no chance to make amends for his mistake. That he'd lost any chance he still possessed to tell you he loved you. And he wanted to join you.” That was the worst of it. The words she had spoken, even without hearing them from Thorin's own lips, he understood them. They were pleas for death to take him and end his suffering. To take him and allow him to be with her once more.

Inara's eyes widened in shock. He had wanted to die? That seemed so unlike the proud, stubborn Dwarf she had given her heart to. “Tell me he loved me? Kili, he did it all the time. Not in words, perhaps, but I knew. It was why it hurt so bad when he sent me away. I thought he'd stopped.” She felt tears in her eyes but wouldn't let them fall.

Kili grabbed at his temper with both hands. The two of them deserved each other. “Dwarves feel deeply, Inara, more deeply than most give us credit for. And Thorin even more so, for all he hides it. He could no more stop loving you than he could stop breathing.” He took her by the shoulders and pushed her out the door. “Go to him. You two have to work this out between you. And think of something else, Inara.” He watched her for a moment to be certain he had her full attention. “He might not have told you – but did you ever tell him?” And with that he stalked past her and left.

She stood there for several long moments, considering his words, before stiffening her spine and heading for the throne room. Kili was right. She needed to tell him.

*

Thorin was holding an audience when he saw her. He rose slowly, watching her come forward, nearly holding his breath. She fairly radiated with purpose and he was concerned. No, not concerned... it was time to be honest. He was afraid that she would leave again. She had forgiven him, but things between them still hadn't been right. 

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and he watched her for a moment before going to meet her. Silence fell about them once more as he took her hands in his, but neither spoke. A spell seemed to hold them in place, eyes locked together, unable to speak. They were oblivious to the onlooking throng; they only saw each other.

His fingertips once more traced the scar on her cheek and she leaned into the caress, her eyes closing against the emotion it provoked within her. Finally he found his voice. “You are the most beautiful thing in my life,” he said softly. “You are kind and gentle and fierce and fiery. You hold my heart, and always will. And you mean more to me than all the treasure under my Mountain. As the Arkenstone is the Heart of the Mountain, so are you mine. I would live in exile once more rather than be parted from you again.” He held her eyes again, willing her to understand that he meant every word. “I love you.”

She kissed him then, not caring that there were so many watchers. “As I love you,” she murmured. “And the only way we will ever be parted again is in death, I swear that to you. How could I leave my heart?”

He gave a gentle pull at her hand and drew her up onto the dais with him. “You belong here, with me,” he said softly. “Balin!” he called and the old Dwarf came near. “What other business is there I must see to?”


End file.
